


The Puppeteer and the Doll

by gardakuka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Reference to the Certain Wolf Meme is Present, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M, Happy Ending (Hopefully), Joffrey Baratheon is a Little Shit, Kinda, Twisted Way of Events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: Margaery Tyrell weds Joffrey Baratheon.Sandor Clegane stays in King's Landing.Sansa Stark is left on her own.And Joffrey Baratheon thinks that a certain House from the Westerlands needs some heirs.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 160
Kudos: 338





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> Q: HOLY SHIET IT'S ANOTHER ONGOING FANFIC WHY  
> A: Well, I've just got an idea and decided to write down at least the beginning, otherwise I could comoletely forget it later on c':  
> Q: Are you going to finish the rest of your ongoings at all?  
> A: But of course.  
> Q: But still, why?  
> A: For the glory of ~~Satan~~ my imagination.  
> Q: Did your English improve?  
> A: No.  
> Q: The summary and the tags are showing that some fluff will be involved here, right?  
> A: *mysterious silence* 
> 
> ***  
> Please note that Sansa is aged up here a little bit (I hate doing so tbh, but some mature stuff is going to appear here, so).  
> This one won't be a crazy long ongoing fanfic, and I'm having the rest of them under control (ahahaha). But yeah, I'd better post at least the first chapter as then it will be hanging here and reminding me of what have I done - which means there will be a guilt inside of me and I will finish it eventually c':
> 
> ~~I'm sorry~~

_The dolls keep on trying to learn of their fates  
_ _To free lives completely of sorrows and fears  
_ _But suddenly hit upon turning that scares  
_ _And that's when the real puppeteer appears_

When Joffrey announced he was taking himself a new bride, Sansa wanted to start laughing like mad. But she was in the middle of an audience, so she braced herself and stayed as calm as she was able to be. Her cheeks turned red eventually, but probably the nobility around her decided it was because of her distress. Or sadness, after all, she lost all chances to become the Queen one day. But it didn’t matter for Sansa, and later on, when the court was dismissed, Sansa almost run to her chambers, barred her door, threw herself on her bed and started to laugh like a madwoman. Her soft pillow muffled all the sounds she was making, and at some point, Sansa had even felt hot tears rolling down her face. Her chambermaids will decide she was crying her heart out, but it didn’t matter for Sansa. She wasn’t Joffrey’s bride anymore, she was on her own now, and she was free.

Until she wasn’t.

Sansa was still a captive of the Red Keep, she was surrounded by her enemies, and there was no way she could escape this cursed place. And Joffrey was the worst of them all, and even with the new bride, he was still in control of Sansa’s future. He was holding Sansa’s life in his small, pale hands, as if she was just a mere doll, and that was the worst. Sansa rolled on her back, staring into the ceiling above her. Right, the only thing she could hope now for was her family, but they were stuck somewhere far away from the capital, which meant nobody would come to take her home in the next couple of days.

Maybe she had to accept Sandor Clegane’s offer that night.

Sansa shivered. Maybe it was a mistake to let him go out of this small chamber, then they could already be somewhere far from here, riding his horse and enlarging the distance between them and Joffrey. Or they could be caught by some guards and executed straight away, or even brought to Joffrey for a trial as two deserters and traitors, and Sansa decided that execution by the guards would be a more preferable outcome. Joffrey would make her pay for running away, torturing not only her body, but her soul too. But Sansa didn’t run away; more than that, Sandor Clegane decided to stay in King’s Landing too. She heard that he rejoined his brothers at arms and helped to protect the city and his King. Somewhere deep inside Sansa wanted to believe that Clegane fought his fear and was killing the enemies to keep her safe as he promised her right in her chambers, but thinking like this she wouldn’t be better than Joffrey with his monstrous self-conceit. And Sansa decided not to think about Clegane at all.

She thought of her mother, her eyes tired and hair with grey strings. She thought of Robb, proud and strong and with a young Queen by his side. She thought of her siblings, all of them dead and lost forever, but the tears didn’t come. As if all of them had drained as soon as she stopped laughing, and now Sansa was just laying on her bed, staring into the ceiling and feeling nothing. Even the first happiness of escaping Joffrey had faded away. She truly was a doll now, her hands and legs attached to the invisible strings, and she felt as if that particular moment her puppeteer had left her on the table, busy with another, more important things. The sleep wasn’t coming as well, and at some point, Sansa started to frighten she lost the ability to close her eyes and see the sweet dreams which always saved her from the cruelty of this world.

  
  


***

  
  


Joffrey had sent his guards to take Sansa to the Great Hall. Meryn Trant observed her with some sort of annoyance, and a newly appointed member of the Kingsguard Loras Tyrell smiled at Sansa and even offered his hand. Sansa locked her fingers in front of her and explained that it won’t be proper for her, a traitor’s daughter and a mere guest of the Crown, to accept such a courtesy from the future Queen’s brother. Trant snorted and mumbled something about northern bitch, but Loras just smiled warmly and said that still wants to treat Lady Stark as an _honourable_ guest of the Crown. But he put his hand on the pommel of his sword, and Sansa had to walk between him and Trant until they arrived at the Great Hall.

Without the curious nobility and gossiping ladies of the court, this place looked too dark and dull. Joffrey was there, and some of the Kingsguard members were also present. There was no Cersei around, which meant Sansa had to prepare herself for any possible move from the King’s side as there was no one who could calm him down. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa spotted Sandor Clegane, looking indifferent as always. He was too good in wearing his mask, and Sansa wondered if someone will believe her if she shared her memories about the fearsome Hound crying on her bed.

“Lady Sansa,” Joffrey’s voice was nothing but a honey. “It’s so good to see you here, in our small company.”

The honey was generously flavoured with ice.

“Your Grace,” she made a polite and pleasing curtsey, meaning none of it.

“You look well,” Joffrey continued. “I was told by your maids that you spent hours crying in your bed after my betrothal to Lady Margaery was announced. Is it true?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa answered.

Her tears were of joy, but Joffrey will never learn about it.

“Good,” the King announced and made himself more comfortable. The Iron Throne was too high for a small person like Joffrey, and Sansa was already tired of keeping her head bent back.

There was a snort made by someone from the Kingsguard, but Sansa decided that their opinion wasn’t important to her at all, she even relaxed a little bit. Maybe she wasn’t Joffrey’s bride anymore, but she still had her pride, even if it was hidden somewhere deep under the puffy layers of courtliness, humility, and mummery.

“You might not be my bride anymore, but you still are my honourable guest,” Joffrey grinned. “And, as a generous host, I need to shower you with various presents, right?”

“I’m not sure if it will be a right decision,” Sansa lowered her gaze and started to examine stone flooring. “After all, I’m traitor’s daughter and pretender’s sister, there is no need to waste your generosity on me, Your Grace.”

“I wouldn't waste a penny on you, Lady Sansa,” Joffrey shrugged. “Well, apart of what is grated for every person who stays in our Keep. But I still want to make you a valuable present - what do you think of receiving a beautiful cloak covered by jewels and fancy embroidery?”

“Excuse me, Your Grace?”

“Your traitor of a father was always telling us that winter is coming,” Joffrey snorted, and there were some muffled laughs from the Kingsguard members too. “And I suppose that a beautiful cloak will make you warmer - as well as a proper man next to you.”

“I don’t think I deserve a good husband, Your Grace.”

“Oh, but you do,” Joffrey’s smile was too wide even for his usual wicked behaviour. “Someone noble and strong, who could make you heavy with his heir and make sure you won’t run away from my reign.”

This description looked nothing like a man her father had promised her, and Sansa felt her heart sinking somewhere down.

“Besides,” Joffrey lightly tapped the armrest of the Throne, deep in his thoughts. “I am sure this marriage will be a blessing for you, my dear Lady Sansa. Who else would be happy to marry traitor’s daughter unless it won’t be done on the King’s command? So you should take my offer as a present from the Seven. Let’s see - you will be wedded, you will have a strong man by your side, and very soon you will feel the joy of motherhood - my mother always blabbers it’s the best what can happen to a woman, so you _definitely_ will be happy at some point.”

Sansa swallowed down a lump in her throat. The prospect to marry an unknown lording, who was loyal to Joffrey and his cause, was making her sick. She didn’t want to tie her life with someone as wicked as the King was, and even less she wanted to share her bed with a man who will see her as just a traitor’s daughter and a vessel for his future heirs.

“I’m still unsure if it is a good idea, Your Grace,” she muttered. “What kind of man will want to have his children to have a traitor’s blood running in their veins?”

“The one whom I will order,” Joffrey emphasized. “My dear Lady Sansa, only a fool will miss his chance to be married to a beauty like you, and you see, luckily for you, I have a man in mind who served my family so well he needs to get something _valuable_ as his reward - as well as finally produce some heirs for his House. I think you two will make a great pair. So let me sort some small things, and very soon you will be a woman wedded and bedded, and nobody will question your loyalty to me.”

It was even worse than Sansa thought. The prospect of a potential marriage of Joffrey’s loyal vassal was making her sick, but knowing that there was someone _particular_ in his mind made Sansa’s hands tremble. She didn’t hear Joffrey’s command to take her away, and it was only in the middle of the way she had finally got back to her senses, her nails sank into her palms, her body trembling.

“Are you feeling well?” Loras Tyrell asked, polite as always.

Sansa nodded, trying to suppress any emotions which were trying to find their way from her throat and body, and let the handsome guard to bring her back to her rooms.

She wondered if she will start to laugh or cry again, but there wasn’t a single tear falling from her eyes. Sansa sat on her bed, her back hunched, her nails still sank into the delicate flesh of her palms, and her breath quickened. She was going to be married to someone very soon, and now Sansa knew why there was no Cersei present at the meeting. Lord Tyrion was still recovering from his wounds and couldn't take her away from his wicked nephew, and Sandor Clegane stayed indifferent for the whole length of her audience with the King. Sansa could remind him that just a couple of nights ago he promised he will keep her safe, tried to kiss her, and his shivering from quiet cries body was pressed to Sansa - then why he was so indifferent towards her future now?

Sandor Clegane was truly a wicked man and a cruel creature, who teased Sansa’s hopes and dreams, promised to protect her, but as soon as the green flames were smothered, he returned to his evil self. And the only thing Sansa knew for sure was that now she was left on her own. Maybe she was just a mere doll here, but she didn’t want to surrender to her fate.

  
  


***

  
  


A group of silent seamstresses visited her the next morning. Sansa informed her chambermaids she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to spend the whole day in her rooms. They brought her a plate with something that looked like remains of the proper breakfast, and Sansa was left on her own again. Until the seamstresses came to her room and without many words started their job. Sansa was measured from top to bottom, and was informed that the good King Joffrey had changed his decision. Now she was about to get not only a cloak, but a dress as well. Sansa was promised her sigil will be somehow included to the cloak’s pattern, as small heads of a mighty direwolf won’t be too visible for the audience. And they will make a nice addition to the sigil of her betrothed.

It was a lie, direwolves looked nice only on their own. Sansa was sure of it, especially after being left on her own. She didn’t say a word to the seamstresses, and bid farewell with a nod. After they left, Sansa barred her door and went back to her bed. It didn’t matter if someone will be looking for her, would it be the King, or his guards, or even Stranger himself - Sansa wanted to be left alone, at least just a little bit more. Until she will be wedded to someone until the end of her days. She wanted to hope this mummery will end as soon as Robb will come to take her away, but it was just a stupid void dream. Nobody will come to take her away, nobody will spare her from the unwanted marriage, nobody will cry for her when she will be broken by her husband. That was what people like her deserved, Sansa was completely sure of it. 

She managed to have some sleep before there was a loud tap on her door. Sansa opened it with a weak smile, surprised to find the Queen Regent on her threshold.

“Your Grace,” she made a curtsey.

Cersei Lannister was not impressed with her politeness and didn’t even try to hide it. Sansa made a step aside, letting her in and hoping she isn’t making a mistake.

“Lady Sansa,” if Joffrey’s voice was a honey, his mother’s one was the lightest silk in the whole world. “It’s nice to see you safe and in good health. I was told you weren’t feeling well this morning.”

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” Sansa put on amused mask. “I wasn’t well, that’s true.”

“It looks like that Royal seamstresses were able to lift your spirits,” Cersei smiled. “I heard them discussing your dress, and looks like you will get the most proper bridal wear than any other lady can imagine.”

“None of the dresses could outstand the one you have worn on your wedding, Your Grace,” Sansa lifted the corners of her mouth. “Or the one Lady Margaery will be wearing for her wedding.”

Cersei measured her with her eye, but said nothing to oppose Sansa’s words. Instead, Sansa saw her smile deepening and now there was an amusement spark in woman’s eyes.

“I cannot believe Joffrey is giving such a proper and courteous lady away just like this,” Cersei faked a sad sigh. “You’d better serve as a prize at some sort of competition for the man who could prove he deserves you, but I cannot change our King’s mind.”

“The King knows what is the best for me,” Sansa retorted, polite as always.

“I hope he does,” Cersei’s smile was glued to her face now. “At least he realised that there’s no way for wolves to live in the same place with the lions.”

“His Grace is very wise,” Sansa nodded in agreement, feeling that her nails sank into her palms on their own.

“Of course he is,” Cersei pouted. “To be honest with you, my dear Sansa, I wasn’t sure if his choice was the wise one, but after talking to you like this I can see why did he decide to wed you to our loyal servant just like this.”

“And why is it so?” Sansa lowered her eyes with a shy smile.

“So there will be someone to keep you on a short leash, dear Sansa. You see, it’s not so common to meet a wolf at the market doing funny tricks on his master’s will, but some men are capable to tame them. I suppose it will be more difficult to tame a direwolf, but luckily Joffrey was able to find a man who can do so.”

“That’s very _generous_ of him,” Sansa answered with a smile.

“It is,” Cersei nodded. “My son asked me to inform you that he is done with all the needed preparations, which means you will be wed in a sennight. Try to enjoy the last days of your lonely life to the fullest.”

“Thank you _so much_ , Your Grace.”

Cersei eyed her full body once again and sighed.

“Not sure how the black and yellow will look on you, but hopefully the seamstresses will make everything possible for you not to be the ugly bride,” she shrugged, and then she was gone.

Only when the door behind Cersei hand banged shut with a muffled thump Sansa suddenly realised she wasn’t sinking her nails into her hands anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the verse before the chapter looks very wobbly because that was my attempt to translate a part of a non-English song which inspired me for this fanfic lol


	2. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long can this stay just a mere fluff?..

He made the biggest mistake a man could do and stayed. After he grew up, Sandor was thinking that if a warrior can change his mind or his plans because of a woman, he was the weakest cunt this world has ever seen. He lived with this thought for years, and now, being on the threshold of his third decade, Sandor Clegane had ruined his plans and stayed in the bloody King’s Landing because of a _woman_.

And it wasn’t even a woman, just a mere _girl_ who was wise enough to hook him up to her side with her looks and talks, and cruel enough to repulse him when he came to her chambers to take her and take her away. He haven’t done both, and didn’t leave himself as well, so now he was stuck in the middle of the viper nest called ‘the Royal Court’ and there was no way he could escape it without her.

When the battle was over, Sandor had feared that a little cunt called Joffrey will make him suffer for his betrayal, even if the said one lasted for mere hours. Bur Joffrey just said that he forgives his loyal dog and allows him to stay in the Royal service. Sandor was stripped from his Kingsguard duties (maybe due to his weakness during the battle, maybe because Joffrey had to dismiss someone to give a place for his future goodbrother, Loras the Beauty), but the King still insisted that his favourite dog should stay and guard him as if a delicate episode during the battle didn’t happen at all.

So Sandor had to stay, and he hated himself for this stupid weakness. He hated Sansa Stark for being so stupid and so beautiful. He hated Joffrey for being a man he grew up into. But still, he mostly hated himself. He had to act like a man and stick to his decisions, not like a little pup who would devour his master and lick his feet even after the said feet had kicked him for so many times, and the worst thing was that in his mind Joffrey Baratheon wasn’t his master anymore.

Sandor stayed, but he promised himself he will run away as soon as there will be the best chance for it. And he will take the girl with him, willing or not, but he will get her out of this cursed place. He wanted to talk to her after the battle was over, wanted to show her that he spat on his pride and stayed for _her_ , wanted to betray her sincerity and fuck her bloody straight away, wanted to fall on his knees and cover her feet with tiny kisses and hot tears of sorrow. He wanted to do so many things to and for Sansa Stark, and all of them went completely against his usual behaviour and set of mind to the point Sandor started to fear he is going mad.

But he had to spend the next days after the battle with Joffrey, listening to his blabbering, watching the city coming back to life, and hoping that it will be just matter of days he and Sansa will run away. If she will accept him, of course.

In his thoughts, he was taking Sansa away just like this, but the night of the battle had proved that inside Sandor still was a weak pup who couldn’t go against the wishes of his master. Or mistress.

Sansa Stark saw him crying that night. She touched his cheek, and her eyes were full of sorrow and pity. He cried like a stupid babe, unsheathing his fears and hopes, and the next time he saw Sansa Stark at the court, she didn’t even cast a look at him. Probably she was thinking he was a weakling after all, and there was no way she will accept him _now_ , after he tried to force himself onto her and after he broke his promise and stayed. She would choose any other man over him, and Sandor had accepted it, trying to ignore the sour truth.

The sour truth was that she would _never_ accept him, not now, not during the bloody battle, not even before. The whole thing with this acceptance was just in his head, and coming to her chambers during the battle was the biggest mistake he had ever made.

When Joffrey the Cunt had summoned Sansa for the audience, Sandor tried his best to be as indifferent as it was possible, so the girl won’t show any sign of what had happened between them just a couple of nights ago. He was staring in front of him, listening to the too polite exchange between Sansa and the King, and when the little shit announced he wanted to marry the girl off, Sandor wanted to steal her away on the eyes of Joffrey and the rest. They’d probably be too shocked to act accordingly, so Sandor and Sansa would have some time to run as far as they could, and he would be able to keep her safe from Joffrey and his wormy fingers, from the court of vipers, from her potential husband who will be drinking, whoring, and disrespect her completely. 

But again, Sansa’s acceptance was just in his head, and Sandor surrendered. He heard that Joffrey had asked his mother to bring in the best seamstresses, so Lady Sansa will be happy enough with her dress. Joffrey was a vile little shit, and Sandor was more than sure that his choice of the husband for Sansa will be the worst anyone could even imagine. The dress and the cloak will serve as a consolation gift for the girl, but none of them will help her at her wedding night when the unnamed bastard will rip her clothes apart, stick his cock in, take her maidenhead and then fall asleep with the loudest snore in the whole world. Sansa Stark deserved something better than this, Sandor was more than sure of it. After all, he had spent many nights in the past taking himself in his hand and imagining how he would cherish Sansa, worship her beauty, kiss and lick every part of her soft body, and it was the part when he was spreading her legs to get the better view when he was releasing into his palm. He could make Sansa Stark happy and desired, but he knew that this girl will never accept him.

She touched his cheek, that’s true, but her body and her mind were closed for Sandor forever. And now she was promised to someone else, so as soon as Sandor learned about the betrothal he stopped imagining Sansa in his bed, embracing him and answering to his hungry kisses. Sandor was a weak cunt for imagining all these things before, but now his life had to return to the normal state.

When Sandor had finally made up his mind, just days after that bloody audience, Meryn bloody Trant had asked him to take over his shift due to the unforeseen circumstances. Most probably he wanted to sneak out of the Keep and get himself a drink and a whore, and taking into account that Sandor wasn’t seen near such establishments for a while already, he went with his request straight to him. Sandor grit his teeth, but accepted, as now he had to restore his good name among the members of the Kingsguard who started to call him names behind his back.

The good thing was that Trant’s shift was one of the easiest any Kingsguard member could imagine. The worst thing was that now Sandor had to meet with Sansa Stark face to face.

The girl wanted to spend some time praying in the Godswood, the pretty and proper thing she was. Sandor sighed and walked to her rooms, trying to throw away all unnecessary things which were flying in his head, and look as indifferent as it was possible. He knocked on her door, and when Sansa opened it, there was a very surprised expression on her face. Which quickly changed to some sort of shyness, her cheeks reddened and she lowered her gaze.

“My Lord,” Sansa said in a weak voice, and Sandor wanted to grab her by the shoulder and spat on her face with the words for being so polite to a stupid crying dog.

“I’m here to take you to the Godswood,” he grumbled instead, and Sansa’s cheeks turned even redder than they were. She looked like a poppy flower set on fire, and Sandor almost chuckled to his joke.

“Give me a moment, My Lord,” the girl asked him in a very polite way, and Sandor stepped back.

“I’ll be waiting for you here,” he said when the door was closed.

He had to act like a man, he had to act like a member of the Kingsguard, which meant he needed to stay inside of her chambers, even if she was changing her dress or something. But Sandor wasn’t a man, he was a fool, just like that stupid boy from the song. So he waited outside, and when the door opened for the second time, Sansa Stark was wearing a new gown, more beautiful than the one she had on before.

“Think your gods will appraise your dress and will grant you a better husband than is promised to you?” he snorted without a proper thought.

Sansa pursed her lips.

“Can we go to the Godswood, My Lord?”

When she called him like that, it sounded more like an insult. He was a dog, a stupid pup, a weak cunt of a man - and this girl was mocking him and calling him _her_ lord. As if he was her husband to be.

They walked to their destination in a silence, and as soon as they were inside, Sandor put his hand on the pommel of his sword and stood near the entrance.

“Go on with your prayers, girl,” he said, and Sansa pursed her lips again, as if his words were hurting her.

She prayed, and Sandor was unable to look away. He had heard that Sansa had spent a couple of days bedridden, and that she was crying a lot after the battle, and probably she didn’t eat enough food during these days - she looked so fragile that any man, even a weakling like Joffrey, could break her just with a simple touch. She was crying in her chambers, and now her eyes looked like two deep pools, so dark and so addictive, and there was a little scar on her lower lip as if she was on it constantly. Sandor knew it could help, he did the same so many times when he was a child in the grip of Gregor, and now Sansa was doing the same to hide her pain and sorrows.

When she was done, she arranged her skirts, locked her fingers in front of her and walked to Sandor, her eyes stuck to the ground.

“Can we talk a little bit, My Lord?” she asked, finally looking up, and Sandor had a deceitful feeling he is drowning in her eyes again.

“About what?” he grumbled without any interest, and Sansa’s cheeks started to turn red again.

“About my,” she swallowed. “My wedding, My Lord.”

Right, so the girl wasn’t happy about the prospect to become a soundless doll of her husband and now she was happy to ask even a mere dog for the help.

“There’s nothing to talk about, girl,” he shrugged, trying to hide his anger.

“There is,” her voice was weak, but there was a strange determination in her eyes, so strange for this girl that Sandor had lost any will to fight with her.

“Go on then,” he shrugged again.

“Did Joffrey… Did His Grace discussed this betrothal with you, My Lord?” Sansa asked, and suddenly there was something like a shame in her eyes, so she shifted her gaze away too quickly for Sandor’s liking.

“And why _Our Grace_ should discuss this delicate matter with his dog?” he snorted. “Of course he didn’t, silly bird.”

“You weren’t so cold the night the Blackwater burned,” she almost whispered these words, and Sandor wanted to laugh like a madman.

The girl who had ignored him, who pushed him away and refused to accept him was standing in front of him and complaining about his behaviour. Was she mad? Or it was his mind that faded away and left him with his imagination and stupid hopes in his head?

“I thought I will be burnt alive, of course, I wasn’t cold,” he growled in annoyance, but the corners of Sansa’s lips twitched a little bit, as if she wanted to smile.

“So His Grace decided to keep everything in secret,” she mumbled as to herself, but then her gaze was back on Sandor, and her hands weren’t trembling anymore. “But I guess he just hates me so much he is looking forward to see me crying in front of the whole court. But I won’t.”

“You think you will be so strong to accept any prick of a husband he will give you as his final present?” Sandor snorted.

He thought that his words will break Sansa’s sudden calmness, or at least make her trembling from the thought of her future husband again, but he was wrong. Sansa Stark didn’t break their eye contact, more than that, she was now smiling, _really_ smiling at the stupid dog in front of her.

“His Grace thinks the man he chose will break me and make me miserable,” she said and now it was her voice which started to shake, but not from the fear. “His Grace is looking to turn my wedding into a farce which will humiliate me and make my husband angry at me for my tears, but I know that nothing like this will happen.”

“Can’t believe you sound so uplifting when talking about the old man who will shag you and leave you alone with your babes while he will be too busy whoring and drinking,” Sandor spatted.

“My husband won’t be doing any of those things,” the girl was still smiling, what a poor thing. “He will keep me safe, that’s what I am so sure of.”

“Sure?”

Sansa chewed on her lip.

“The Queen had visited me,” she said in a low voice. “She wants to see me broken as well, and she made so many hints about my marriage and my future husband, as if in her head I would cry a river as soon as she walked away. But I didn’t cry, My Lord. I knew that the present His Grace is making for me to see me broken will be a present in truth. My Lord Husband will keep me safe, and I will be loyal to him as much as he will be loyal to me. I am not afraid.”

“Then you are a little fool,” Sandor sighed, feeling bad for Sansa Stark. “Any man who is in the service of Joffrey will see you as nothing but a plaything who needs an extra punishment for betraying the King, how can’t you see this?”

“But you won’t be like these men, right?” her voice was completely broken now. “You promised you won’t, My Lord, you promised you will keep me safe on our run, but I know you will be doing the same after we will be wed, right?”

It wasn’t happening at all, it was just in his wicked mind, Sandor was sure of that. But somehow it was real, and if it was his dream, then Sandor didn’t want to wake up at all.


	3. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support and comments!  
> It still looks like a sweet fluff, but Joffrey was tagged as a little shit not for nothing...

Sandor Clegane didn’t believe her, but that was what Sansa expected from him. He went silent after she was done with her plea, then made a barking laugh and said that pretty bird shouldn’t trick evil dogs like this. But there was a tiny sparkle of the hope in his eyes, as well as the pain, and Sansa reminded in a weak voice that Sandor Clegane was a man who was able to smell a lie.

“Am I lying to you now, My Lord?” she almost whispered these words, and suddenly his face was too close to hers that Sansa flinched. It reminded her of the night in her chambers, the heat of his body merging with hers, the sounds of the battle somewhere on the distance, the tears of the broken man in front of her. She wanted to raise her hand and touch his cheek again, but Sansa was unsure if it was the right timing to do so.

Sandor Clegane had studied her face for the long minutes as if he was trying to burn her features into his mind, and then he flinched back as fast as he could.

“I need to bring you back to your rooms, girl,” he said, spinning on his heels and hiding his face from her.

Sansa wanted to know what was in his eyes now, but she didn’t want to provoke him, so she nodded and made a step forward. Sandor Clegane didn’t offer his hand, he just walked next to her without a word, not even greeting his comrades in arms when they met some of them on their way. Sansa tried to keep her pace to walk next to him, but he didn’t even realise she was struggling with it and just kept marching, looking into the void in front of him.

When she was back in her chambers, Sandor Clegane made sure she was safe and sound, and then he left without even looking at her. It was making Sansa sad, it looked like Sandor Clegane decided she _was_ lying to him, and somehow it hurt. She went to her bed and laid down, her nice dress still on her, her hair still up. She was feeling hurt, she was feeling miserable, she had sent her chambermaid away when the girl came and asked if Lady Sansa wanted to have something for a second lunch.

She didn’t want to have her lunch, and especially she didn’t want to see anyone at this moment. So after the maid left, Sansa had climbed down from her bed and barred the door. After some musings, she went to the window and closed shutters, so the darkness of the room could match the one in her mind. Sansa laid back on her bed and sobbed, but the tears didn’t appear. She felt broken, and somehow the vile plan of the King had started to work even before the wedding was over.

Sansa didn’t know why she was so miserable and so sad, especially after she told herself recently not to think of Sandor Clegane and not to hope he will change his behaviour towards her, but the fact he decided not to accept her still hurt.

  
  


***

  
  


She slept until the late morning, and when her maid brought Sansa something to eat it was already noon. Sansa swallowed the food and drunk the wine which was served together with the breakfast, and asked to be left alone again. The prospect of staying in her chambers on her own until the end of the day was very tempting, and when there was a short knock on her door, Sansa winced.

She climbed off her bed and opened the door, and found with the barefaced surprise it was Sandor Clegane who came to her room.

“I’m here to bring you to the Godswood,” he said, his gaze averted.

“I didn’t ask to be brought there today, My Lord,” Sansa replied politely.

“ _Still_ ,” he grumbled and finally looked at her. “I’m here to bring you to the Godswood.”

The first thing Sansa noticed that his eyes were free of rage. There was an unnamed emotion, which merged with the pain from the yesterday, and Sansa nodded.

“Give me a minute, My Lord,” she said, and Sandor Clegane had closed the door, leaving Sansa alone.

She put on the simplest dress she had, brushed her hair and made a quick, blowzy braid and went outside. Sandor Clegane was patiently waiting for her, and then he even offered his hand. It looked like he was eager to talk to her in the silent environment of the Godswood, and Sansa accepted his hand with a smile. Something similar to the hope starting to grow up inside her soul, and the soundless walk didn’t look so hopeless as it did the day before.

When they finally arrived at the Godswood, Sandor Clegane first made sure that they were alone, and only after that he turned to Sansa and looked directly at her again.

“Girl,” he said, and somehow Sansa was already missing the moniker he was calling her before the night of the battle. “The thing you told me yesterday… Tell me your words were real.”

His hands were trembling a little bit, and Sansa suddenly realised that he was afraid. It was difficult to say what exactly had caused his distress, was he afraid of her possible rejection, was he afraid of his feelings, or there was something else in his mind, Sansa didn’t have an answer to it. Instead of making any guesses, she just smiled a little bit shyly, the air around her suddenly becoming hot.

“I told you that we will be wed by the end of this week,” she answered, and somehow her voice went up, now she was a chirping bird in front of him.

“Did Cersei tell you so?” he asked, his voice unsure.

“She didn’t,” Sansa shook her head. “She just made some hints, probably thinking she will make me feel desperate and scared.”

“But you weren’t scared, right?”

Sandor Clegane tried to take a hold on himself, but his voice started to tremble. If it was the first time Sansa saw him without the usual armour on his soul, she would think she is going mad, but she had already seen him crying and unshielded in her arms, and the only thing she could do right now was to smile.

“I wasn’t scared, My Lord,” she answered completely honestly. “The King and his mother can think that marrying me off to you will be the cruellest punishment they can come up with, my they don’t know the things I am aware of.”

“And what are those… things?”

“That you are here to protect me,” Sansa said, her smile still on her face. “That you won’t hurt me even if His Grace will ask you so. That you can be rough from the outside, but inside you are a man who will take the great care of me, my wishes, my hopes and fears, my future. That I want to learn how to be a good wife to you, My Lord.”

Sandor Clegane’s hands didn’t tremble anymore, but now the fear went to his eyes.

“Tell me you aren’t lying,” he whispered.

It was still so hard to understand, Sandor Clegane was the great and fearless warrior, he was able to confront the King himself and keep his head on his shoulders, but when he was alone with her he was a completely different person. Someone, who could cry, who could openly show his fears, who desperately needed some warmth and the words of assurance. Sansa didn’t know the _whole_ story of his life, but even from the small parts she picked here or there she realised he was like this because of the lack of love in his life.

Maybe it wasn’t _that_ love Sansa had learned about from her songs and tales, the man like Sandor Clegane would spit on it, but the warmth and the knowing he was needed for someone will work for him quite well. Sandor Clegane also wasn’t a man from her song and tales, but learning about their marriage Sansa spent some time thinking of it and understood she wanted to become a proper wife for that man, she was good in easing pain and giving the warmth to the others, so she will be able to help him. And he will keep her safe, he had promised her so.

“I’m not lying, My Lord,” she simply answered. “You told me you will keep me safe, but I was afraid that time to respond to you properly at that time.”

“Afraid of me?” he growled.

“Afraid of everything,” Sansa corrected him straight away. “I have spent some hours with Cersei and her tales about death and rape, I was in the Keep which was surrounded by fire and blood, I was afraid of everything, My Lord.”

Sandor Clegane had lowered his gaze and mumbled something which looked like ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’, and Sansa smiled. She knew he meant it.

“But now I had time to think of everything, My Lord. When my betrothal was announced, I feared I will decide to end my life on the day of my wedding, but the Queen’s words had lifted my spirits.”

“That’s the first time in my life when someone is happy to pick my ugly face over some lordling,” Sandor Clegane chuckled.

“I’m really happy it’s you, My Lord. And I mean it.”

“You really do?”

Sansa nodded, taking a step forward and putting her palm on his elbow.

“I’m not sure if I will be able to become a good wife straight away,” she started eagerly. “But I will try, I promise you. I will be a good wife to you, and a good mother to our children. Maybe,” she swallowed. “Please beg my pardon, My Lord, but maybe at this moment I just see you as my protector and a man I can trust my life, but I will be doing my best to know you better, and love you as my Lord husband.”

“Love?” he chuckled again, but this time there was no joy in this sound. “I don’t think someone can love an old dog like me, girl.”

“But I will, My Lord,” it sounded like a promise. “One day, I will.”

Sandor Clegane raised his hand and brushed his huge, rough thumb over her lips, over her cheek, over her chin.

“Silly bird,” he whispered, but that time his eyes were full of hope.

  
  


***

  
  


The seamstresses cam to visit her again a couple of days before the wedding. The dress they were making was nearly done, and today was the last fitting before it will be brought to her chambers on the day she will finally walk up the aisle of the Great Sept. Joffrey was so eager to punish her with this wedding he even ordered the ceremony to be held in the place where only the nobility and the members of the Royal family were able to get married.

The dress was beautiful, made of the finest silk and gauze fabric, and it sat on Sansa so good the head seamstress started to cry.

“You look so heavenly, my dear child,” she said, and Sansa had to agree.

The cloak wasn’t brought for the fitting, but judging from what she saw in the mirror, she definitely will look like a royal bride, even if her husband was just a mere second son of the lowborn House. And Cersei was wrong, the combination of grey, yellow, and black was making Sansa’s features more mature and emphasizing her eyes. She looked like a Clegane now, and when the seamstresses asked her to take it off, for now, Sansa felt a little twinge of sadness.

She told Sandor Clegane about this dress when they walked to the Godswood, and he said he was eager to see it on Sansa. They were sitting on the old piece of tree which was cut down ages ago, and Sandor was listening to her words as if the talks about the fabric and ribbons were the most interesting thing for a warrior.

They started to spend some time alone every day in the Godswood, saved from the curious eyes of the court. Everybody was used to the fact that the traitorous Stark’s daughter was praying to her traitorous gods, and it was easy enough to mask their meetings under the words of the daily prayer.

Sansa was eager to learn more about her future husband, and Sandor Clegane looked happy enough just to spend some time with her without anyone else around. When they were alone, the anger was always fading away from his sight and even with his scars he was looking like a brave warrior from her childhood tales, but it was his mind and soul that was making Sansa safe and hopeful about her married life. She knew how the men around the Keep were eyeing her, and she still remembered the words of the drunk Hound about her body, but here, in the Godswood Sandor Clegane was sitting still next to her, listening to her stories, answering her questions, and his expression was telling Sansa he was at peace. Sansa wasn’t a clueless girl, she knew what every man needed from women, and Sandor Clegane had his own needs, but the most inappropriate thing he did was taking her hand into his huge palms, or stroking her cheek with his thumb, and the only thing it meant was that he had respected his future bride.

When he touched her for the first time, Sansa had shivered but decided that she will be safe in his hands, no matter what he will be doing with her. But nothing happened apart from the almost innocent caresses, and when they were saying farewells that day Sansa had suddenly asked if he was seeing someone else to appease his needs. Sandor Clegane called her a silly bird _again_ and said that he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t tell her anything directly, but his words alluded to the fact that Sandor wasn’t a man who would go and seek pleasure somewhere outside of their bed even in the married life, and that made Sansa happy.

And sitting next to him in the quiet Godswood, feeling his rough skin on her palms, and listening to his raspy voice made Sansa realise it was the first time since her father’s death she wasn’t feeling herself a lifeless doll at the mercy of this Keep.


	4. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love when my children are in love ;)

This whole thing with Sansa Stark - it wasn’t happening for real, right? She was a delicate young lady, her voice melodious, her words sweet, and he was an ugly bugger with the manners of a dog. Joffrey was very clever in his idea to marry this girl to the person who could scare the shit out of any young maiden just with a single stare, it was the best punishment he could come up with for any person he hated with all his heart.

“Dog,” he called Sandor one afternoon. “What do you think of our sweet Lady Sansa?”

Sandor shrugged. Joffrey still didn’t say a single word about the upcoming wedding, but knowing his love for sudden turns which could bring despair to his enemies, Joffrey’s plan was crystal clear at least for Sandor. Especially after Sansa told him about her wedding gown.

“What can I think of her, Your Grace,” he grumbled. “A nice-looking lass with an empty head, that’s who she is.”

“Empty head for sure,” the little shit giggled. “And what do you think of her body, Dog?”

“Nothing special,” he shrugged again. “She doesn’t even have nice teats to be considered a good feast for a man.”

Joffrey chewed his lip, as if he was expecting a completely different answer from his guard.

“So you won’t be interested in fucking her if you’d get a chance?” he asked, narrowing his eyelids.

“I didn’t say I won’t be _interested_ ,” Sandor explained in a bored tone. “I mean, she might be lacking some forms, but who would miss his chance to get a good fuck with a fair maiden she is?”

“That’s right,” Joffrey snorted. “Well, hopefully, her _husband_ will take a proper care of his young silly wife.”

“He definitely will”, Sandor shrugged.

“You’re right, Dog,” the prick of a King announced triumphantly. “I guess I need to reward you for your wise counsel - and for your service too. After all, even a fleay and dirty dog will be happy to get a juicy bone, right?”

“Right, Your Grace.”

The next day Sandor told Sansa Stark about this conversation while both of them were safely hiding from the rest of the world in a Godswood.

“He asked if you were interested in me?” she asked looking him directly in the eyes, her cheeks blushing.

“Aye,” Sandor nodded. “Think he tried to make sure if I will be happy enough to get you for my wife, or something like this.”

Sansa Stark bit on her lip, trying to hide her smile.

“ _His Grace_ is more than sure than this marriage will break me,” she said, a sparkle of fun in her eyes. “He thinks my Lord Husband will treat me so bad I won’t stop crying for the rest of my life.”

“Your future _Lord Husband_ isn’t an honourable man and he can easily mess everything up,” Sandor mumbled, not being so sure of himself. But Sansa Stark didn’t have any of it

Instead, she just put her palm on his shoulder, making him shiver.

“I am sure I will be more than happy with our wise King’s choice,” she chuckled. “And if my Lord Husband won’t be sure of something, he can come to me and speak to me, so we will deal with any mess.”

“He will,” Sandor promised, taking her delicate palm in his hand and squeezing it gently. “But he can still hurt you unintentionally, you know.”

“ _My_ husband will never hurt me, he gave me his word. Besides,” Sansa’s cheeks suddenly turned red. “I heard he was _interested_ in me, so I suppose he will treat me with gentleness and care. I am a maiden, after all, and he knows about it.”

Her full face was now on fire, and gods only knew what she was imagining in her head. Judging by her uncomfortable breath and the way she moved a little bit, maybe the things in her mind were way too extreme for a high born lady she was.

Sandor laughed quietly, dragging her a bit closer. He wanted to hug Sansa Stark so much, wanted to cuddle her, wanted to taste how sweet her pretty lips were, but somehow it felt that if he will decide to cross the border of propriety before their wedding, the whole fairytale he was now living in will break into million pieces and vanish. So the only thing he could do was to squeeze her hand and sometimes caress her face with his fingers. Bloody hells, her lips were so full and so soft, Sandor couldn’t wait to finally press his scarred mouth to them. Of course, he wanted way too many things to do with Sansa Stark’s lips, mouth, fingers, and the whole body - but the kiss looked the most sweet thing he could imagine at this particular moment.

“Your husband will take a great care of you,” he promised, and then Sansa smiled and brought her hand up.

Now _she_ was the one who was caressing his face, her delicate fingers on his ugly cheek, her thumb almost touching his lips. Her fingers were shivering, and Sansa bit on her lip again, as if she was scared he will push her away, but Sandor just closed his eyes and decided to swim in the best feeling he ever experienced. Her touches grew more confident, and then fingers moved to his neck, caressing and giving Sandor some sort of a comfort. With his eyes closed, he could imagine it was Sansa’s lips making their way down to the collar of his tunic, but then he hunted away such a thought. Her lips on his skin would send him to the all heavens at the same time, and Sandor wanted their wedding to happen as soon as it was possible.

But they still had two days before it, and when it was time for Sansa to return to her chambers, Sandor decided he had nothing to lose - so he dragged Sansa Stark to himself and placed the lightest kiss on the crown of her hair.

“My Lord!” she pouted, but Sandor saw that she liked his action. Her eyes were shining brightly and her lips were stretched in a wide green.

Maybe she was pouting not because she was scandalised, but because she wanted _more_ actions from him - but at this moment it was all Sandor could do to not kick away his luck.

“I won’t be coming with you to the Godswood tomorrow,” he told Sansa before they left. “I’ve got some things to do, and I didn’t want to look too suspicious to give my shift to someone else just to follow you for your prayers.”

“I know,” Sansa nodded. “I will be missing you, My Lord.”

Sandor knew he would miss seeing Sansa too, but he just nodded.

“The next time we will see each other will be on the wedding day,” Sansa smiled mischievously. “Cannot wait for it, My Lord.”

Sandor _really_ wanted to forget about the propriety and just devour her lips and sweet mouth, but he decided he was strong enough to wait just a little bit more. Then he will have a chance to taste the _whole_ Sansa Stark, and this possibility was worth of waiting.

They bid farewells on the threshold of her chambers, and then she disappeared behind the wooden door. Sandor sighed and went to his room to have some rest for himself. A little stupid pup who was living deep somewhere in his memory had whispered that going to bed early will only draw near the next day - and then his wedding will be just a day away. In Sandor’s opinion, this thought was a total rubbish, but after he approached his room, he went straight to the bed, taking his boots off on his way.

He had to have a proper sleep, he needed to rest more before the day of the wedding. Tomorrow he will have to guard Joffrey on his journey to the city, and knowing this little shit he will be tired as a fuck. So sleep was exactly what Sandor needed now. He didn’t even jerk off before falling asleep, even if Sansa’s caresses were still fresh in his mind.

Soon, he told to himself, soon he will have her as a wife - and then she will touch his face again, making him shiver just of these simple actions. Sandor wasn’t a stupid pup anymore, but just a mere thought about him marrying a fair maiden was turning him into a happy idiot. At least Sansa Stark was happy enough to have this stupid idiot as her husband, and that was all Sandor needed right now.

  
  


***

  
  


He woke up quite early on the day of the wedding. The first rays of sunlight just started to touch the ground around him, but Sandor was already on his way to the city. He wore his best tunic, the one which will match the dress and cloak of Sansa Stark, and he had agreed with an old barber he will drop in this morning to have his scrub removed completely. Shaving was one of the worst things Sandor had always experienced, and his hands were too big and clumsy for removing little hairs which were growing too close to the open wounds on his chin. Luckily, he made some sort of friends with that old man many years ago and was visiting him every time these pieces of hair started to look too ugly. Not that something could make his face look even worse, but Sandor preferred to keep his face at least _bearable_. He never believed any woman will find his mug _bearable_ , but the gods decided to give him at least one good thing in his life.

A fair maiden who trusted him, who didn’t flinch while touching his face, who was blushing _because of_ him.

Old man’s shop wasn’t usually opening that early, but Sandor had asked him very politely, and the barber agreed to see him in the morning. After the job was done and Sandor left a golden dragon on the counter, he decided to check a little shop full of some sort of things women usually liked nearby. When they were in the city yesterday, Sandor spotted a nice shawl on the shop window. It was of grey wool and had lots of blue and black flowers on it. The blue will match Sansa’s eyes, Sandor decided, and the grey and black will be a perfect combination of their houses colours. And he still had a lot of his savings, so he decided a little present will be a good sign for the start of their married life.

He went to the shop to get a shawl for Sansa, and came out of it with a huge roll wrapped in a strong parchment. He didn’t stop on the shawl, and now Sansa Stark was about to get a pair of golden earrings with blue sapphires, a pretty yellowish dress with a moderate cleavage (the lady tried to sell him the one with a low one, but Sandor wouldn’t accept if someone else would start looking at his _wife’s_ nice teats), and some pretty ribbons and bead necklaces. His lady had to look better than anyone else in the whole Westeros, maybe even better than any exotic beauty from across the sea - and Sandor was ready to make everything to see Sansa’s beautiful smile. When she smiled, her eyes were changing colour just a little bit, and there was a pretty chin dimple appearing on her face, it was making Sandor’s pulse quicken straight away.

He looked much better than he did on his usual days, he had bought everything he wanted to gift to Sansa Stark, and even his mood somehow started to brighten up. Sandor wasn’t a man who could easily say that he was feeling happiness or some other rubbish like this, but now he felt a strange lightness inside of him, and probably this _was_ the happiness every fool around him was always talking about.

“Oi, look, the little pup had washed himself and is trying to look like a pretty lapdog, or what?”

Apparently, things were not able to go smoothly even on that important day, but he had his sword with him anyway, so there was no chance even the appearance of his brother’s man-at-arms in front of him will make Sandor less happy on his wedding day.

The other question was, what in the all seven hells he forgot in the _capital_.

“Didn’t know people like you were allowed to come to the city,” he grumbled, stopping in the midst of street and turning to the other man. “And I have my sword with me, just in case.”

“Forget about it,” Polliver waved his hand as if trying to act friendly. “Not here to engage me in a fight, just went to the market to check what rubbish they are selling in the capital. After all, can’t flake on your brother who kindly agreed for my presence in the Keep.”

“Gregor’s in the Red Keep?” Sandor clenched his fists. He was sure the bugger who was related to him by blood was somewhere in the Riverlands with all his stupid followers, and today wasn’t the day he wanted to see him at all.

“The King sent a raven recently,” Polliver patiently explained. “Said, Ser Gregor was needed in the capital as soon as he could get here - apparently the boy had listened to Lord Tywin and finally agreed it was the time to get a proper reward to your brother for all his service, y’know. While you still be running here as a lapdog for the court.”

He grinned, as if trying to provoke Sandor for a fight, but it didn’t work.

“Didn’t know that rape and massacres were enough to get a reward,” he shrugged, seeing the change in Polliver’s stare.

“At least they are ranking higher than a _walk-out_ in the middle of the battle,” he spit, making a strong emphasis on a certain word. “But don’t worry, you’re Ser Gregor’s brother after all, so I can help you a little bit with a good advise. Just stay in the city today and you won’t be seeing him at all - we are leaving this bloody place tonight already. After the feast is over.”

“The feast?” Sandor asked in a dumb tone.

“Aye,” Polliver nodded. “He well wed this northern beauty of a bitch, we’ll get some drinks and then will be on our way out of this hole. The people here a pretty much dumb and noisy, can’t imagine how you are surviving here.”

Alright, _that_ was not happening. Sandor shook his head and latched on to the roll in his hands as it was his life-saving anchor.

“Wed who?” he asked, and at this moment he didn’t care if he sounded like a dump pup.

“Oh, the girl from the North, can’t remember her name,” Polliver waved his hand. “The daughter of that Stark moron - imagine, he said that _we_ were the toughest criminals, what a prick.”

“Her name is Sansa,” Sandor whispered, looking on the ground at his feet.

“Aye, whatever,” Polliver shrugged. “Anyway, your brother will ride away this afternoon, so you don’t need to worry much about his whereabouts, pup.”

Sandor didn’t listen to his blabbering. It didn’t have any sense at all, and all other words of his brother’s follower were rubbish too. Sandor was more than sure of it, nobody could make sweet and pure Sansa to marry a monster his brother was, it was just the dumbest joke he ever heard in his life. He said he will keep Sansa safe, and she accepted him no matter what, and she was born to marry a beautiful lord or at least a decent person Sandor was trying to be for her, so the whole thing with her marriage to Gregor was made up to get a proper laugh on Sandor’s confusion. It wasn’t happening, and there was no way Joffrey could do such a stupid move, enraging the Stark family even more, and wait, Sandor was promised a reward from him, so he had to get himself a bride who would be wearing the colours of his House and walking down the aisle to be joined with him. It was a joke, a stupid joke, right?

_Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, Joffrey _is_ a little shit after all--  
>  ~~congrats to everyone who guessed how the things will go~~  
>  stay tuned~


	5. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small chapter today  
> Contains some upsetting things (e.g. WEDDING)

Sansa was ready.

She had a proper sleep to look fresh and shining, her hair was styled in a proper northern way, and her gown, oh, that gown was the most perfect piece of art Sansa had ever seen in her life. It was pretty, it was flimsy, and it had the _right_ colours. The seamstresses brought her maiden cloak too, the mixture of grey and yellow with direwolves and dogs. Joffrey probably hated to see the northern pattern on her cloak, but he wanted to humiliate his prisoner with this marriage, so he said nothing about her clothes.

Sansa looked beautiful, Sansa looked like the goddess, Sansa was happy and ready to finally enter the marriage ceremony, and when the Queen mother arrived to her chambers to escort Sansa to the Great Sept, Sansa looked like the Maiden herself. It wasn’t about her looks or her nature, it was the feeling of something _unhuman_ in her. She smiled and made a curtsey, and that smile was a victorious one.

Queen Cersei eyed her warily, her eyes stopping on Sansa’s full pink lips, and then the older woman threw her head back and started to laugh.

“Poor little girl,” she said, waving her hand to let the chambermaids go. “You think that if you will pretend you are ready to face your married life and the husband my son _generously_ picked for you, it will make things easily straight away?”

“I do believe so,” Sansa bowed her head. “His Grace wouldn’t make a mistake when he had to deal with a person like me.”

“You look like a love child of the Warrior and the Maiden,” Cersei made a blasphemous joke. “So pretty and so ready to face any enemy. But trust me, little dove, by the end of today you will be broken. If not by the end of the wedding ceremony.”

“I won’t break,” Sansa said, tossing her head in pride. She was full of that pride now, and nobody could change her spirit.

“I will,” Cersei’s lips looked so ugly now, almost like Joffrey’s wormy ones. “You will be screaming and asking for help, but no one will come to take you away from your husband. Your eyes will stop shining so confidently, your lips will bleed from your bites, and your hair will be tossed after you will try to escape. Well, at least I hope you won’t rip your gown - it’s too pretty and too expensive to be thrown away just like that.”

Sansa answered with a simple smile. It was the most important day of her life, and she didn’t want to listen to Cersei’s nonsense.

And then they weren’t nonsense at all.

Sansa thought she had lost her mind. Maybe somewhere on the way to the Sept, maybe it was Joffrey who took it away. He dared to act as her father, and probably that was what made Sansa to lose her sanity. She wasn’t herself, her thoughts were replaced by some vile images, and her senses vanished completely. She wasn’t herself anymore, and it was Joffrey’s fault after he pretended to be her father and said he will walk her down the aisle.

There was no other explanation of why she was marrying anyone but Sandor.

There was no other explanation of why she was marrying the monster of a man. No, not a man, human beings weren’t that cruel, even Joffrey wasn’t able to kill people with his bare hands just like that.

There was no way she was marrying _Ser_ Gregor Clegane.

Sansa’s mind was gone, as well as her senses. She wasn’t able to hear anything after she and Joffrey entered the Sept. She wasn’t able to speak, her voice gone, and when it was time to say the vows she stayed silent, her tongue dry and her mind blurred. She wasn’t able to _feel_ anything. Not the temperature of her body, not the pain from the wounds on her palms she unconsciously made with her delicate nails, and there was a deep dark hollow inside of her, as if the Winter had already come for her, taking away her body and her soul.

But the worst thing was that she wasn’t able to feel fear. Maybe she was afraid, maybe she wasn’t. There was nothing inside Sansa anymore, as if she turned into a pretty soulless doll whose guts were a hay, whose hands were connected to the invisible strings, and whose life was so short she didn’t even have time for any hopes or fears.

She was staying there, her dress beautiful, her hair styled, her eyes full of nothing. She looked in front of her and saw nothing. She didn’t hear, didn’t talk, didn’t feel. When the High Septon told something about the cloak, Sansa had felt cold air for a moment - just before a massive piece of fur was put on her shoulders. She didn’t make any move, she was just standing there - maybe that was the moment Cersei told her about, the moment she had to try to escape, to run away and be caught by guards. Or maybe even by her _husband_ , and in that matter, the guards would be a much better option.

Then she was kissed. No, she wasn’t, it was something else, something vile and torturous, but not a kiss. Nobody had kissed her before, and she had to stay untouched before the _right_ man could hold her, caress her cheek and press his lips to hers _gently_. It wasn’t the kiss, Sansa decided. It just couldn’t be.

Then she was a woman married.

She was dragged outside of the Sept, put in the cart and in some moments they had already been in the Red Keep. There was a feast prepared to celebrate this wedding, and dozens of tables were groaning with food. Sansa was seated on the place of honour, together with her _husband_ , and people, who were silent and somewhat afraid during the ceremony had their first cups of wine - and then the proper feast had started.

Food was served on the golden dishes, drinks were poured constantly, the musicians were playing joyous tunes and some lords and ladies started to dance, people even started to make jokes - and then the feast turned to something Sansa had taken part during the time she spent in the Red Keep.

Joffrey promised her a _proper_ wedding, and he kept his word.

He promised to marry her to the man who will break and humiliate her - and he kept this word too.

Sansa didn’t touch the food. Nor she raised her head and looked at her _husband_. She was sitting on her place, her back straight, her chin up, her eyes empty. She was finally able to see and hear things around her, but she couldn’t make herself to _feel_ anything.

The little girl called Sansa Stark had vanished the moment the doors of the Sept were opened.

Oh no. The little girl called Sansa Stark had vanished a bit earlier, a couple of days ago - when she looked at Sandor Clegane on her threshold and closed the door of her chambers.

_Sandor_.

She felt like she was stabbed with a huge sword. Sansa closed her eyes - and opened them again, trying to scan the crowd around her.

She hadn’t seen Sandor since that day. Gods, there was no way he would attend the wedding of his _brother_ , but he wouldn’t abandon her, right? He promised he will keep her safe, and there she was, married to a monster, broken, and her feelings gone forever.

But she was able to feel the pain thinking about Sandor - maybe, her mind wasn’t gone completely? Maybe there still was a chance for her to get her senses back, she just had to think of something, to escape from this mummery, to run away and burn the Sept down, destroying the paper evidence of her marriage, to get out of here and look for the only man she wanted to see in her life.

But her thoughts were just some stupid, naive thoughts. She couldn’t run away, not from the room full of soldiers who were loyal to Joffrey. And she couldn’t run away from her _husband_ \- he would grab her just with two fingers and break her as if she was a noisy fly.

And then he grabbed her by her elbow and lifted from her chair. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa noticed Joffrey’s happy smirk, his eyes glowing from the victory.

“Isn’t it time for a _bedding_?” he said, his voice killing faster than the viper.

“We are leaving this place,” her _husband_ said and dragged her to the door. “Great gift I got from you, King Joffrey.”

“Great gift indeed,” Joffrey beamed. “Just make sure she is tamed properly, the northern bitches are trying to bite every time they see the opportunity for it.”

“She won’t dare,” her _husband_ \- Sansa didn’t want to call him by his name, and using his family name would disgrace Sandor, - snorted. “The wolf will become the lapdog soon enough.”

“Good,” Joffrey nodded with the wide smile. “And please, Ser Gregor, make sure no one will try to take her from you.”

“Nobody will dare,” her _husband_ shrugged. “And if someone will try,” he clasped his fingers on Sansa’s elbow so hard she flinched. “He will get the _other_ side of his mug burned.”

Joffrey burst into hysterical laughter, and its sound was the last thing Sansa heard before she was dragged away from the Keep.

She was almost literally _dragged_ , her legs were full of iron and didn’t obey her commands at all. She felt the tight grip on her hand and the sharp pebbles on the road which were sticking to her skin. Probably there was blood on her legs, but Sansa didn’t care about it at all. She wanted to close her eyes, to give out the last breath and fall asleep until the Winter inside will be gone.

There was a story of the Night King which was scaring her as a child. Old Nan was good in making every story look frightening, but the one about the eternal Winter made Sansa shiver and have nightmares. But it was just a story for little kids, and Sansa had just met the reality. Maybe the Night King wasn’t real, but her _husband_ was. And the cold darkness inside her body was real too.

Maybe it all was just a bad dream. Maybe it was her imagination. Maybe it was just a ridiculous nightmare the night before her wedding with Sandor - but she was able to feel the little pebbles on her way, so it wasn’t a dream.

Her _husband_ brought her to his men. All of them were warriors and all of them could make a fair maiden to shake just from a glance at them. Her _husband_ gave them some tasks and told to bring Sansa to the wheelhouse where she had to stay before the will be done with their things and leave King’s Landing. Maybe it was for the better, Sansa decided, at least she won’t face her bedding right now. After all, the wheelhouse was too small for her _husband_. 

She was seated there, the door was closed, and Sansa was left on her own. Alone again. She stared in front of her, but it was too dark and Sansa felt she finally understood how _nothing_ looked like. She wanted to cry, she wanted to hurt herself, she wanted to fall asleep and never wake again, but the only thing she could think of was the emptiness inside her.

She wasn’t destined for this emptiness. She had to have a happy life, she had to rejoin her family, to return home, to have her siblings around, to be married to the bravest man she knew, but now all these things looked like a foolish dream of a child she was until today. The life was nothing but sorrow and emptiness, and the Seven have averted their faces from Sansa for all small sins she ever did in her life. The Old Gods did the same, and she was left on her own, her future taken away, her soul broken, her body awaiting the moment it will break as well.

But if she will be broken anyway, maybe there was the reason at least to try something?

Probably, Sansa decided. She closed her eyes and made a deep breath, but the emptiness didn’t disappear. Sansa raised her hand and opened the door of the cart. Cersei told her she had to try to run away, probably she said it to have some fun during the ceremony in case frightened Sansa will attempt to escape, but she didn’t. She didn’t run away then - maybe she could try to do so now? There was no Cersei around, so no one will laugh at her when she will be beaten by her _husband_. And if no one will laugh, maybe it was worth trying.

Sansa made a step outside. There was no man to guard her, it looked like all of them decided she will be too scared to attempt to escape, and nobody was around as well. It was so strange it _had_ to be a dream, no one in the right mind would leave his wife on her own straight after the wedding. But her _husband_ did, so Sansa threw away all her thoughts and made a step.

Then another one. Then one step more. And one more. A bit bigger step now. And again. And again. One more. One more step a bit faster than before.

And then she was running.

There was no one around and all the streetlights have been already put out. Sansa was running, feeling the cold wind on her face, the laces of her dress loosened and were making her movements clumsy and slow, but she kept on running.

She was running, and when she bumped into someone on her way she wanted to scream with all her heart - but at the same time the strong hands flung around her, the warm body pressed to her, and she was able to feel this body starting to shake violently as if from cries.

“I’ve got you, Sansa,” Sandor whispered into the crown of her hair, his voice broken. “I’ve got you.”

And then she screamed without making a sound.

If even for a moment, but she was safe. And Sansa didn’t want to think that this moment will have to end very soon.


	6. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very very very small chapter, I just wanted to post something as an intermedia today.  
> Just some Sandor and his thoughts about the current situation.

Sansa was sleeping in his arms, her eyebrows narrowed, her lips trembling. Most probably she was seeing nightmares again, and Sandor was more than sure it was his thrice-damned brother who was appearing in her dreams over and over again.

They've been on a run for more than a day now, with Stranger starting to get more and more exhausted. Sandor's heart bleeder hearing his fast breathing, but now both he and his warhorse had to save Sansa - their sleep forgotten, their bellies empty, their mind focused on their aim.

To take Sansa as quickly as possible to her family. Of course, no one could stop Gregor from breaking the gates of Riverrun in an attempt to get his wife back, but at least Edmure Tully and Robb Stark had their army there. They could be much safer there, well, at least Sansa will be. Sandor was sure he will be kicked out of the area as soon as Sansa's mother took her poor daughter in her arms. Or maybe they will let him stay - after all, Sandor was a part of Sansa's family now, so they have to obey his plea and let him stay and keep protecting her. 

_Goodbrother_. That was the most cruel jape someone ever dared to make on him. This was so wrong, he couldn't be her buggering goodbrother, Sansa didn't deserve to have a monster as her husband, she even told Sandor whom she wanted to see as her Lord Husband, and it wasn't Gregor at all.

It had to be _him_. But apparently, his wishes were the ones of a stupid greenboy, and so were Sansa's one. They had created a small world in the Godswood, just for two of them - all doors closed, all windows sealed, and that was what broke both of them. When he dragged Sansa in a clumsy hug yesterday, he was crying. She started to cry as well, her body shivering hysterically, and then he took her to Stranger - and Sansa was still crying soundlessly and clinging to him, as if she was afraid to let Sandor go away and lose him forever.

He didn’t let her go after that. As soon as Stranger rushed out of the city, Sandor held Sansa so close he was able to hear her wild heartbeat through his armour. They had to ride in a very chaotic way - on the road, through the woods, passing tiny settlements, down the field, once Sandor even made his warhorse to enter the shallow river and race along the course. He had to do everything possible to make their chasers spend more time in the attempts to figure out which way the bloody Hound went with his loot. And all that time he was holding Sansa as close to his body as he could.

And when they made their first stop after almost the whole day of racing, as Stranger had to have a sleep at least for some hours, Sandor was still holding Sansa. They settled in the huge nature-made trench covered by high wild grass. He gave Sansa dry food he managed to grab with them, and when she turned her head away, her lips sealed, he had to feed her as if she was a real bird, her feathers red, her behaviour stubborn. He didn’t eat himself, mumbling something about being not so hungry, and then Sansa laid her head on his chest, her body shivering. Sandor hugged her, dragging closely to himself, and started to stroke her hair in a very soothing way. He wanted to whisper that everything was alright, that they will be far from the capital very soon, that she was safe with him and there was nothing she had to worry about - but all these words were pure lies, so Sandor stayed silent, caressing her soft hair and rocking her as a mere babe.

Sansa didn’t need to know it now, but that food in a small bag was everything they had until the end of their journey. Sandor didn’t bring too many bags with them anyway, just some food, his sword and daggers, and the roll with all those things he bought for her on the day of _her_ wedding. And that was it. He didn’t have time to get more things for them, he couldn’t take his possessions from the Red Keep while Gregor was in there, and there was a couple of coppers and five or six silver stags in one of Sandor’s pockets - all money he possessed.

Just a day ago he had loads of savings, his habit to spend money only on the most necessary things helped him to save enough money to buy himself even a small keep, but he had lost all of them just in a blink of his eye. He offered all his savings to bloody Polliver without any hesitation - it was risky, it was stupid, but he had to try. Loads of money, and in return he was promised nobody will guard Sansa for some time. It was wrong to trust the man of his brother, but apparently, Polliver took a bag of golden dragons much higher than his loyalty.

It was his only chance to steal Sansa away, and he had to risk everything, and it worked out. But now his main question was what they will have to do when they will run out of food - and they couldn’t allow themselves to stay in the inn without a proper pay for it. And if something will happen with Stranger’s horseshoes after the long rides he was making every day, there was no way Sandor could pay for the work of any smith. He probably had to act as a wise man and kill Polliver after getting his part of the deal so he could run away with his money pouch, but doing that meant risking Sansa’s safety - and Sandor definitely couldn’t allow _that_ to happen.

They will survive somehow. They _have_ to, against all odds in faces of Joffrey, Gregor, Lannisters, anyone else. Sandor promised to take her away and protect her - and he decided he will keep his word.

They were riding again, and Sansa was asleep in his arms. Sandor was holding her with one hand, the second one tightly grabbing the reins. It could take them around two weeks to get to the Riverrun if they will keep to that pace. But it was unreal, Stranger won’t be able to spend so much time without a proper rest and with two humans on his back. A month, probably, which will mean that the task of surviving was getting more difficult. But they could manage together, Sandor decided. Of course, Sansa needed a bit more time to come back to her senses - and then they could work together towards their aim. Sandor will hunt for the food, Sansa will help him with cooking, and they will hold each other during the nights, their bodies so close as if they melted into a united body.

Maybe it was the thought of a fool he was, but at least this stupid though was making him just a little bit stronger. This one, and a constant reminder that there was no way he could let Sansa down. And Sandor, the bloody idiot he was, was ready to face even the fire-breathing dragons if it was about her safety.

What a lovesick fool he had become.


	7. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tiny chapter before the big things will start to happen - an intermedia told from Sansa's view.

Sansa woke up in the middle of the night, her body trapped in the strong arms of Sandor Clegane. He was asleep too, lying on the cold ground and holding her tightly, and when Sansa shifted a little bit to make herself more comfortable he groaned through his sleep, strengthening his grasp. Little wrinkles appeared on his forehead and his eyelashes started to twitch a little bit as if he was about to wake up - so Sansa stayed still, lying in an uncomfortable position and patiently waiting for him to wake up.

He gave his cloak to make a little bedroll for her, Sansa realised. The ground was cold, and there were no more pieces of clothes to make something for himself, and Sandor willingly lied on the ground just to make _her_ feel better. Sansa, whose eyesight started to adjust to the darkness, tilted her head a little bit and looked at Sandor’s face.

His scars didn’t go away, his coarse feature still were present, some of his wounds were bleeding again, but Sansa couldn’t stop watching him. His looks didn’t matter to her. Well, maybe they did, to be honest, but what mattered were his eyes, his strong lines, his lips - and Sansa was staring at them as if someone put a spell on her which was preventing her from taking her eyes off of him.

She still remembered that time in the Godswood when she pressed her palm to his cheek and touched Sandor’s face. He closed his eyes and his lips were trembling a little bit, and Sansa felt something incredible inside of her, as if the strings of her soul were caressed by an invisible hand. She knew it had to be a longing for him, but it was so strange and so new, she liked Sandor as her protector and a _husband-to-be_ , but she knew there wasn’t love for Sandor inside of her. But the longing was there, and even the memory of that feeling made Sansa shiver again.

She has heard the good lady had to feel such longing for her Lord Husband. Sansa never wanted to get similar feeling while thinking of her husband. It was Sandor Clegane who somehow managed her soul tremble - and Sansa was feeling wicked.

Her whole life was wicked now. She was married to the monster, she was on the run with a man who _had_ to become her protecting husband, and there was no hope for her future at all. Sansa spent a couple of the last days crying or sitting quietly on the back of Sandor’s warhorse, pretending she’s asleep. She wanted to talk to Sandor, to say everything that was on her mind, to hear his reassuring words, but she was too afraid that as soon as she will open her mouth she will start crying again. So it was better to pretend she was deep in her dreams - at least like this, she could feel Sandor’s fingers caressing her hair in the most gentle way it was possible for his huge hands. And couple of times Sansa thought she felt something which reminded her of his only kiss in the Godswood - the kiss on the crown of her head.

Now she was awake and her body didn’t tremble. There also wasn’t that salty feeling on the back of her throat, which always warning her that she is about to cry. Maybe she could talk to Sandor today, at least she had to thank him properly for stealing her from his brother. Sandor had to risk everything he had, his life was now even in a bigger danger than before - and he still decided to take her away. It was something Sansa always wanted to expect of him, ever since his first attempts to help her when she became Joffrey’s prisoner. Back then she was truly afraid of him, and Sandor Clegane was a broken man with an ugly mind and grimy soul, but he tried to help her in his way - and sometimes Sansa was thinking if he could turn a man from one of her favourite childhood tales, the one who was always barking and throwing daggers at everyone, but in the end saved the fair maiden from her death. She was thinking about this tale, imagining Sandor Clegane throwing away his mask of an ugly and coarse person, but each morning she had to face the reality and understand again and again that this was just her imagination. Maybe Sandor Clegane was capable of some _good_ and _gentle_ things, he could never throw everything away just to save her from the Lannisters.

Then he came to take her away during the Battle of Blackwater, but Sansa was afraid at that time. Afraid of everything, as she told him before, and maybe afraid of him too - he was drunk, he smelled of smoke, he was covered by blood, and he was about to do with her something horrible. But he didn’t. He left her room, broken and miserable, and Sansa realised that her story of a grumpy protector had to end just like that. Her life wasn’t a tale, after all. And when he stayed - well, maybe not then, it was when the Queen mentioned her marriage to _Clegane_ , - only then she decided that maybe, just maybe the tale was real.

There was a man in her life who was ready to protect her from all the dreads, and it was everything Sansa needed. And when she was forced to marry a man who would hurt her and break her from both outside and inside, Sandor Clegane stepped in again and saved her. Again. Sansa had already lost count to all the times he was there to ward off bad luck from her, and every time he was risking with his own life.

Because of her.

It definitely had to mean something.

Sansa shifted again, disengaging her hand and raising it just a little bit - now it was almost touching Sandor’s face. Just like in the Godswood. Sansa wanted to touch him again, to feel his skin, his scars, his short stubble on the good side of his cheek, and even his lips. But she was afraid that after the lightest touch he will wake up - wait, no, she wasn’t afraid. There was nothing Sansa had to hide from him now, they were travelling together, trying to escape the fate of being killed by her _husband_ , so there was nothing to be afraid when it was about her and Sandor.

She trusted him, after all, and he only proved himself a man who could be trusted. He was doing so much for her, there wasn’t enough gold in the world to give to him for his service - but it didn’t matter. Sansa knew that the only thing Sandor Clegane could ask her of was herself, and she would willingly give her to him, embrace him, welcome with her mind and body and soul - he just had to ask.

So she moved her hand a little bit, caressing his face with her fingertips, moving from his scarred cheek to his mouth - and then her thumb went further down, touching his coarse lip, the sensation of burned part of which was making Sansa to feel a rather queer feeling in her chest and a bit lower.

She wanted to caress him more, but then Sandor suddenly opened his eyes, staring at her in disbelief.

“Sansa,” he said, his voice hoarse after the sleep.

Sansa was able to feel his hot breath on her fingers, the feeling inside her body growing bigger and curling into a ball. She looked at him straight into his eyes and she was able to see her reflection in them - her hair mussy, her eyes wide, her breath quickened. That’s how he was seeing her, a truly wicked person - but she liked looking like that. She didn’t remind herself of a good lady who had to be patient, calm, and serve her husband, no matter who he was. Instead, she was lying on a ground in the middle of the deep forest in arms of a man who wasn’t her husband, or at least her betrothed. And she didn’t have any regrets.

She moved her fingers a little bit, her thumb touching Sandor’s lower lip - there was a change in his sight now, his eyes widened as well and became even darker, so now Sansa’s reflection was even clearer.

“Sansa,” he said again, his voice trembling just a little bit. Then he closed his eyes. “If you are awake, we need to be on our way,” Sandor said and opened his eyes again, the unusual darkness now gone.

He helped her to stand on her feet, then asked if she could help him to gather the things together - and went to see how his warhorse was doing. Sansa willingly did everything that was required from her, packing their small possessions together. The bag with their food was looking so tiny, and she didn’t see a money pouch among several rolls and bags - but probably Sandor had it with him. Of course she wished they could have a bit more food and belongings with them, she was wearing her _wedding gown_ for days now and needed to change into something else - but Sansa knew it was too risky for them to enter any proper village or small town. They will be spotted, the news of their travel will be told to her _husband_ , and then they will be caught. No, there wasn’t any way to make risky and stupid moves now, so Sansa decided not to tell Sandor about her wishes regarding her clothes.

She will manage. She had to be strong now, only strong people were able to survive in the wild, that was what Arya was always mumbling about as a kid. Maybe she wasn’t like her sister at all, but Sansa could be strong - for her family, for herself, _for Sandor_.

She was sure that if they escaped the King’s Landing on the night of the battle, she would be acting as a noisy high-born girl, and Sandor Clegane would bark at her and make her cry with his remarks. But now everything was different. She wasn’t so stupid anymore, and he wasn’t so hateful anymore. 

And that meant they could work together to escape and survive, and maybe even face the better fate. They just had to wait for it, Sansa decided. Work towards it - and wait. And eventually, she will be back living in her favourite tale once again.


	8. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom - update.  
> I went to rewatch the musical, the song from which inspired me for this fanfic, so here's an update!

Sansa smiled.

She was exhausted, didn’t have a proper rest and warm meals for days now, but when she was brushing her hair before going to sleep, a tiny shadow of a smile appeared on her pretty lips. Sandor was dealing with his armour, which became dirty and small dots of rust appeared on it after the days he spent under the heavy rain, when he noticed that weak smile of hers. It was so wrong, to see her smiling while being that weak and broken, but Sandor still wasn’t able to take his eyes off of her.

He put away his armour, freeing on his place and just simply sitting there and looking at Sansa. She was busy with her task, her hair clotted and dirty, and she didn’t notice his stare at all. There were little bruises on her hands, and some of her fingers were covered by blisters after her first attempts to make a fire and skin some small rabbits Sandor was able to kill for their meal. Her nails were broken and there was dirt under them. Her neck and face looked dirty too, though Sandor knew she was spending some time every morning in the attempts to clean herself without a water.

She looked disorderly. She looked completely unladylike. She looked like a goddess, and Sandor was ready to humble himself before her at any moment. 

No. He was already there.

Sansa raised her head, looking at him, as if she was distracted by the silence from his side. The shadow of a smile still on her lips, so weak it was almost invisible - but it reached her eyes, making Sansa even more beautiful.

“Are you done with your armour?” she asked, putting away her comb. Sandor wasn’t, but there was nothing else he could do with his armour without any proper materials he usually used to make them shiny and clean. So he nodded at her words, and Sansa happily stood up and walked to the small bedroll he made from his spare clothes some time ago.

It wasn’t perfect and Sandor doubted it was even comfortable, but Sansa never complained about it. She was sleeping on it every night, with Sandor right by her side, and sometimes he was waking up in the middle of the night to find himself lying on the side of this makeshift bedroll with Sansa in his arms. He was holding her close every night after their escape, but as soon as she came back to her senses completely, Sandor decided to draw some lines between both of them. Apparently, it didn’t work at all.

He followed Sansa, who was already lying down on her back at staring into the dark sky. Sandor put his dirty cloak on the ground next to the bedroll, took of the sword belt and placed it next to the place he was about to spend his night. He had to be ready to fight at any minute of his life, so he was keeping his sword by his side even when he was sleeping. He was used to doing so, but now the urge to have proper protection was thousands times larger than during his whole life. Gregor was looking for them, that what Sandor was sure. And the lands they were crossing now belonged to the bloody Lannisters and their bannermen, which meant everyone could be considered their enemy. Even the unarmed peasants. Even the barefoot children. _Everyone_.

He laid down next to Sansa, who rolled on her side and was facing him now, her right hand serving her instead of the pillow. She was studying his face, she did all every night before falling asleep. Sometimes she would reach out her hand and touch him. His jawbone, his good cheek, his scars. She touched his lips too, and every time her delicate fingers caressed the only soft spot on his face, they were trembling a little bit. As if she was afraid he will bark at her and turn on his other side, hiding his face from her and her curious fingers.

But Sandor never barked. More than that, he never made any sound at all. He was lying on the ground, allowing her to touch him, and so afraid to move, to say something, even to breath. It all looked like an illusion, the fair maiden beautiful like the goddess touching his face willingly, but Sandor knew it was real.

_Unfortunately_ , it was real.

He wanted to return her touches so badly, wanted to squeeze her in his embrace, press his not so rough lips to hers delicate and pink ones, taste her mouth, lick her lips, chin, neck, go lower, rip apart the _damned wedding gown_ she was still wearing and have a feast on her luscious round teats, make her squirm and pant as if she was running for ages, and then move lower, tossing her smallclothes apart and finally getting to know if she was really as sweet down there as he imagined.

He also wanted to caress her face with his huge fingers while she was touching him, his thumb running over her swollen from his kisses lower lip, and then fall asleep with her in his hands, their bodies tangled.

He wanted so many things he couldn’t do.

His feelings for Sansa made him a weakling. And those days he spent with her in the Godswood destroyed the invisible armour he was wearing since his childhood. He wanted Sansa to be _his_ , but it was impossible. And Sandor was afraid, oh, so afraid that if he would give a loose to his feelings, he won’t be able to stop. He would _make love_ to her, making her sing from her pleasure and ruining her virtue - and then there won’t be even a chance for Sansa to escape the mummery of a marriage she was dragged into.

Losing her maidenhead will make her a Clegane. And not a _Clegane_ Sandor wanted her to be.

The mess they were dragged into was so wicked, and there was no escape from it until the death of his monstrous brother.

Sandor wanted to weep from his weakness. But he just clenched his fists and swallowed the knot of the sorrow in his throat, allowing Sansa to continue with his caresses.

He didn’t dare to look into her eyes, his gaze focused on the darkness behind her shoulder, and when Sansa was done with her strange evening custom, she put her hand under her cheek and closed her eyes, falling asleep instantly.

Sandor knew very well that in the morning her hand will be latched on to his tunic, her face squeezed in his chest or shoulder, her pretty long leg on his hip.

The nights on the run where his torture, but Sandor was fine with it. He reminded himself of a dog once again, a beaten and forgotten dog who was happy to receive even the worst leftovers from the feasting table. He knew that Sansa wasn’t his cruel master, but there was nothing she could do apart from stopping her caresses, and Sandor would never ask her to do so.

He would be the biggest fool to lose the warmth which was flowering in his chest with each little caress Sansa was gifting him with.

  
  


***

  
  


In his dreams, he was a little pup, living in the kennels built by his grandfather. But his grandfather was gone, and his parents were gone, and his sister too, and he was there on his own, a tiny pup who was lost and forgotten by the masters of the keep. He was living there, hiding in the darkest corner during the day in hopes that his black fur won’t be seen by the master, leaning out of the kennels only during the night. He was all alone there, spending his days in his corner curled into a tiny ball, and the only thing he was able to do was to whine from his misery. There was no sun for him, no warmth, no birdsong he wanted to hear. And there was no escape from the kennel he was put into.

  
  


***

  
  


Stranger neighed and stopped, demanding a rest. Last night they managed to sleep just for some hours, until Sandor woke up from the distant sound of the clatter of hoofs. He quickly jumped from the ground, getting his armour and sword belt on. Sansa, who woke up at the same time he broke their embrace, was trying to stand up and follow him, but her mind was still so sleepy she wasn’t able to stand straight. She got her rest later on, when Stranger was getting them away from the little clearing. She was sleeping in his arms, and Sandor heard his heart throbbing with a dark emotion he didn’t want to name.

He knew very well it had to be _fear_ , but now he was saving Sansa, he wasn’t allowed to be afraid of _anything_.

They travelled through the little forest and crossed an empty field. It looked like the smallfolk from a village nearby had used it to grow some vegetables, but everything was already harvested - though Sandor decided to make a quick stop. He found some tiny wrinkled beetroots and carrots, which were missed by some picky peasants. He put them in one of his bags, thinking about what they could cook with them, the tops going to serve as a meal for Stranger.

According to Sandor’s calculations, they had to be somewhere not too far from Harrenhal, which meant they were entering the most dangerous part of their travel. This area was full of Gregor’s men, and Sandor was sure they were looking for two runaways, who were stupid enough to challenge Sir Gregor himself. They didn’t have any right for a long stop, and they had to ride around the villages so they won’t be caught.

Sandor planned to get as far from Harrenhal before they could have a proper rest, even if takes them a couple of days. He saw in Sansa’s eyes that she didn’t like the idea at all, but she nodded and said it will be the best. She was tired and dirty, her legs and back hurt from the constant riding and nights on the pile of Sandor’s clothes, he gown was torn apart in some places, but even though she was eager to continue their travel.

So they went on, but it was Stranger to refused to go further. The warhorse was done, he didn’t even want to move his legs to get them away from the road. And his appearance was appalling, the mane dirty and clotted, his breath ragged and his eyes full of an almost human-like tiredness and pain. He needed his rest, and Sandor knew it very well.

“We need to make a stop,” Sansa piped in, getting off the horse and caressing his mane. Stranger looked at her and made a sad neigh.

Sandor knew he still had his heart, which was getting back to life each time Sansa touched his face, and now his heart hurt.

“Please,” he whispered on Stranger’s ear. “Let’s move to the woods. It will be better for you to have a rest there, alright?”

The horse looked at him and neighed sadly again. He started to move his legs slowly, as if each step was hurting his body, and Sandor wanted to scream from the despair.

Stranger was his one and only companion for so many years, he was better than any friend Sandor could get himself among people, and now he was in pain because of _Sandor_. He wished so much he could ease his horse’s pain and give him a proper rest, but there was no way they could make a long stop now.

_Then he could lose Sansa_.

“Sandor?” the sweet voice asked him and a delicate hand touched his cheek. Sandor looked at her, her face strangely blurred. He blinked, feeling her fingers moving to his jaw. They were wet, and Sandor inhaled loudly.

“It’s alright, Sansa,” he whispered, not even thinking of how stupid he looked now standing in the woods in front of the most beautiful woman with tears rolling down his good and ugly cheeks.

“Maybe it will be better for us to make a proper stop?” she asked quietly, her palm still on his jaw. She raised her other hand as well, putting it on Sandor’s shoulder. “Stranger needs some rest, and someone needs to take good care of him, and we need to wash ourselves and sleep not being haunted by fear.”

“We will be able to do so only after meeting your family,” he chuckled sadly, covering her arm on his shoulder with his. “For now it is too dangerous.”

“But Stranger is in pain!” she pleaded, and Sandor knew she was caring for his warhorse. “Sandor, please, maybe we could look for an inn nearby?”

“We are in the lands which are controlled by the damned Lannisters and Gregor,” Sandor hissed. “We cannot trust anyone here.”

“Maybe,” Sansa chewed her lip. “Maybe we could bribe the innkeeper? Give them some money in return for their silence?”

“You think someone could be bribed with some silver stags?” Sandor barked out a laugh full of despair. “We have just some silver stags and _coppers_ , Sansa. Nobody will take us under their roof for them.”

“I can trade my earrings?” she offered quietly. “They look quite expensive. And some stones on my gown can also serve us well. And…”

“Sansa,” he cut her off, squeezing her hand with his. “Everyone in this area could be working for my brother. They will take my stags and your earrings with a delight, and then the raven will send a note to Gregor as soon as we will be offered a room for our stay.”

“But it can’t be possible,” Sansa whispered, her deep blue eyes full of fear. “That man is a _monster_ , it’s just simply impossible that everyone is listening to him.”

“It is possible _because_ he is a monster,” Sandor sighed. “We cannot risk our lives.”

“But we _have to_ try,” Sansa insisted. “We can walk a little bit further after Stranger will have some rest, and when we will approach any inn I will go and have a talk with the innkeeper.”

“You?” Sandor cocked his eyebrow, ceasing to believe in the words which were coming out of her pretty mouth.

“Yes,” Sansa nodded, looking at him with an unhidden desperation. “They can recognise your face, especially knowing about your brother - but look at me, Sandor. My face is dirty, my hair are clotted, my hands and legs are covered with bruises, and my gown is looking like a rug. They won’t even recognise a noble lady in me, right?”

Sandor shook his head. Sansa was right, her appearance was dirty and scuffled, but even though she looked like a lady for him. Like a goddess. Like a woman, he wanted to protect in his arms.

“They won’t know who I am,” Sansa was whispering eagerly. Somehow she managed to lock their fingers on Sandor’s shoulder. “I will try to do it, Sandor. Nothing bad will happen to me, I promise you.”

She already made a promise once, Sandor suddenly remembered. In the Godswood, when she promised she will be a good wife for him, a wife who wanted to learn how to love her Lord Husband. An honest promise full of hope, which disappeared on the day she was dragged to the Great Sept, and there was no way she will be able to fulfil it one day.

Sandor closed his eyes and laughed quietly, feeling the warmth of her hand on his.

_A fool. A lovesick idiot. A weakling._

He didn’t open his eyes, just simply nodded. There was a silence, which was followed by the rustling of her gown, and then Sandor felt her lips caressing his mouth, the touch so light it felt like a dream.

But again, he knew it was real.

_A weakling._


	9. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow.  
> I've been banned from any type of caffeine after the post-surgical complications, so for the last almost two weeks I was feeling myself like a huge slime, who didn't have any will for writing, for doing anything after work, and even for living (lol).  
> So I had to brace myself and write at least something today.  
> Oh wow.  
> I miss my coffee :(

They found a small inn at sunset. It looked more like an old shack, but there was a sign stating that this was an inn.

“It looks like nobody’s there,” Sansa whispered.

Sandor grumbled something under his nose. Sansa saw that he didn’t like the idea of making a stop in a place where the other people were. He had a point, but Sansa knew they needed this rest, even if for one night only. She tried to explain it to stubborn Sandor, but even her tiny kiss didn’t convince him to believe in her plan. Well, he agreed they can try and look for this stay in the inn. but Sansa was sure that somewhere deep inside Sandor was still thinking that it was madness.

They stopped under the old oak, Stranger neighing quietly. He was simply glad they were stopping again, that’s what Sansa was sure of. Green leaves and curved branches of the tree were hiding their little party from anyone who could appear nearby, and Sansa squeezed Sandor’s hand reassuringly.

“It will be fine, I promise,” she whispered again, raising herself on tiptoes and looking him in the eyes.

Sandor nodded, but Sansa understood very well he didn’t believe her. He let her go though, even gave her all money he possessed. The purse was small and light, but Sansa felt it wasn’t a good idea to ask Sandor where all his golden dragons had disappeared. He was telling her before, in the Godswood, that he had enough money for them to get out of the capital and have a quiet and, hopefully, happy life somewhere else. But now he told her he had only some silver stags and _coppers_. And Sansa hope it would be enough for them to get a stay nobody apart from them and the innkeeper will learn of.

She left Sandor and his warhorse under the oak and went to the inn. It looked like an old shack at close range, but it didn’t matter for Sansa. Hopefully, some stags would be enough to get themselves a room in this old building.

Even the yard of this inn looked empty and almost abandoned - Sansa noticed some hens and chickens wandering near barns. They were lazily picking some grains and grass, and looked as if someone took good care of them. Sansa decided to take it as a good sign, so she just took a deep breath and walked inside the main building, hoping that her hands won’t be trembling too much, or that her cheeks will suddenly become hot and red.

She walked straight to the common area, long tables and benches empty and covered with a tiny layer of dust, but there was some sound from the kitchens, so the inn wasn’t as abandoned as it looked like. Sansa cleared her throat, making some steps inside.

“Excuse me?” she tried to ask loudly, but her voice came out as a high-pitch chirp. Sansa clenched her fists, not to show anyone who was in the building she was afraid, even if just a little bit.

The door to the kitchens opened and Sansa saw an old man, coming to her with an unimpressed expression on his voice.

“What do you want?” he grumbled, eyeing her from head to toes. “ _My lady_.”

“I wanted to find out if we can stay here for one night,” Sansa answered, ignoring the mocking tone of his voice. “It’s just two of us and a horse.”

“No one is staying here anymore,” the old man continued to grumble. “Can you see this place, my lady? People come here, have their meal, and go away. None of them stays.”

Sansa knew what he was talking about. The place didn’t look like a decent inn, with all those dusty corners and spider webs, but the cooking smell coming from the kitchen made her mouth water.

“Please,” she opened the purse Sandor have her and dug out some silver stags. “We were travelling for days and our horse needs to have some proper rest.”

“Three stags,” the old man shrugged. “But there’s no decent room for a _lady_ like you. My wife is too weak, and our daughter is with a child. None of us can take proper care for this place anymore. Except for the kitchens.”

“Oh, that will be wonderful,” Sansa reassured him straight away, four silver coins on her palm. She was aware that in the purse there were only two stags left, together with some not worthy coppers, but she didn’t care. They needed to have this rest. And they needed to be sure no one will learn about their stay here.

When the old innkeeper took all four coins, Sansa quickly tore off one of the jewels from her gown. It looked like a little diamond and she hoped that Joffrey kept his word and made a _proper_ gift for her as he promised.

“Please, take it as well,” she held out her open palm to the old man. “I know that our stay might be difficult for your family, b-but I want to repay you for your kindness in full.”

The innkeeper took the gem from her with the same indifferent expression on his face. He took a proper look at it from each side, and then moved to the window, trying to scratch the thick glass with it. Sansa noticed an almost invisible line the small gem made on it and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Won’t ask you where from you got this little stone,” the innkeeper shrugged again, putting the diamond in his pocket. “Don’t think we’ll need it, but thanks.”

“I can give you another one,” Sansa promised eagerly, ripping another little diamond off her gown. “Or even two. I just wanted to ask you for a favour, ser.”

“And I wanted to ask you to rinse your eyes properly next time, my lady,” the innkeeper snorted. “I’m here all alone in this room, there’s no any _sers_ here. Name’s Walder.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa heard her voice to tremble and go high-pitch again. She was getting nervous, and the way the old man was talking to her was too far from a reassuring one. “Please, _Walder_ , accept my jewels as a payment for our stay.”

“And there’s something the lady like you want to ask me for, right?” he snorted and raised his eyebrow.

“Right,” Sansa nodded, trying to stay calm. “I wanted to ask you to keep secret the fact that I and my companion were here.”

Walder stared with her not without interest, the indifferent expression on his face slowly turning to the amused one.

“And what do we have here?” he made a whistling sound, which made Sansa flinch. “My lady is on her run with an unnamed _companion_? What, trying to escape your strict parents? Your septa? Or maybe,” he looked at the dirty piece of clothing her wedding gown became. “Your _betrothed_?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sansa averted her gaze. “We just need a place where we can rest, please, don’t share our secret with the others.”

“For the three diamonds and four stags you gave me I will keep my mouth shut even in the seventh hell,” the old man laughed. “And I will make sure the rest of my household will do the same. Can’t stand bail for chickens, though.”

Sansa chuckled, her nervousness fading away. Maybe she was making a huge mistake in her attempt to put her trust in this weird old man, but she had to try. And she hoped that the innkeeper has respect for his promise, not giving her or Sandor away. It was a very foolish thing to hope for, but she needed this rest. Sandor needed this rest. _They_ needed it.

Thinking of _them_ made Sansa a little bit stronger than she was. She took a deep breath and smiled at the innkeeper.

“Thank you so much, se… Walder.”

He shrugged at her words, but his expression was a curious one now.

“Go and fetch your _companion_ , young lady,” he said, slowly turning around. “And I’ll tell my women we will have some guests tonight. I’ll ask Jenye to prepare a bed for you two. And a good amount of a broth.”

“Thank you,” Sansa repeated, her voice full of a sincere gratitude.

“The horse of yours can go to the barn,” the innkeeper waved his hand to the side where Sansa saw an old wooden building on the opposite side of the yard. “There’s hay for him, but your companion will have to bring him some water himself. Too old for it, sorry.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Sansa nodded eagerly.

“And I think you’ll need a bath?” the old man snorted, walking to the kitchen.

“Y-yes, if it won’t be a trouble for you.”

“We’ll prepare some water, but you’ll have to get it upstairs by yourself.”

“That also will be fine,” Sansa reassured him. “Sorry, I know we are a trouble for you, so we will do our best not to bother you too much. We just really need to stay here for this night.”

“You told me those words hundreds of times,” the innkeeper snapped. “Go away and bring everyone here. This _inn_ will be closing very soon.”

Sansa nodded, even though the man wasn’t facing her and couldn’t see her gesture, and run out of the house.

She wanted to return to Sandor as a proper lady after her flawless victory, showing him that she was right and now they will have a hot meal, a warm bath and a proper sleep. But as soon as she was outside, her legs decided to disobey her wishes, and Sansa couldn’t stop herself from running in the direction of the oak where Sandor and his warhorse were waiting for her.

She felt so light and happy, and the desire to share the good news with him made her so happy Sansa wanted to cry.

Sandor was sitting on the ground and patiently waiting for her return, but his hand was gripping the pommel of his sword. At some point he turned his head to the side and saw her running - he jumped up straight away, drawing out his sword in a swift motion. He was ready to protect her, Sansa thought. She knew he would fight anyone and anything to keep her safe, she heard him telling so too many times, and she felt a warmness in her soul.

“Sansa?” he rasped, walking towards her, frowning.

She grinned, running in his arms and beaming at him.

“I did it,” she whispered, feeling so proud. “I spoke with the innkeeper and we can stay for this night. Me, you and Stranger, all of us.”

“Are you sure we will be safe there?” Sandor asked, holding her shoulder with his free arm. His sword was still in his other hand, but it didn’t matter for Sansa at all.

“We will be safe, I promise you,” she answered, nuzzling against his tunic. “The innkeeper here is so weird, but I’m sure he is a good man. Our secret will be safe.”

Sandor sighed, squeezing her shoulder and pressing Sansa closer to himself.

“I hope you’re right, pretty bird,” he whispered in the crown of her hair, and Sansa smiled to herself.

  
She knew she was right. She had to be.


	10. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom - chapter

The innkeeper and his family were acting too courtly and too amicably with him it was suspicious. There was fear in their eyes when they thought he wasn’t paying attention to them, though. Sandor decided to keep his sword with him for the rest of their stay in the tiny inn.

They were given a hot chicken broth and promised a tiny, but clean room. The old innkeeper said his wife and daughter were about to heat the water so the young lady could take a bath.

“But you’ll have to help us to get the water upstairs, m’lord,” he mumbled and made a tiny step back, as if in fear Sandor could punch him for this inconvenience.

The way the old innkeeper and his family were acting had confirmed Sandor’s suspicions they were well-acknowledged with the ways his _brother_ treated people in his lands. And this area was now under Gregor’s full control.

It always made him wonder why in the seven hells the innkeeper was trying to appease his guest. If Gregor was looking for them and let everyone in the area know about his disobedient wife who ran away with his younger brother, there was no need for old Walder to be afraid of him. If Sandor was on his place, he would act as if nothing particular was happening, wait until his guests retreated to the bedroom, and straight away send the raven to the lord who was in charge of the area. And after two unlucky runaways were captured by the mighty _Ser_ Clegane, he would simply wait for his reward.

But the people here were acting if they were afraid that Sandor could become angry with them and punish them straight away, or maybe even tell a certain _someone_ about the way he and the lady he was travelling with were treated. And that was bloody strange.

The broth was tolerable, it wasn’t the best Sandor ever had, especially after spending a huge amount of his life at the Red Keep, but after days off surviving on dried meat, it felt like a gift from the seven. Sandor gulped down the whole bowl in several gluts. Sansa was trying to act like a little lady she was, but finished her meal too quickly and in the most unladylike way. 

“Would you like to have some more?” the innkeeper wondered and Sansa was about to nod, but Sandor stopped her reaching his hand out.

“We had enough for now,” he rasped, ignoring Sansa’s disappointed stare. “Give me the water you prepared for this young lady and I will bring it upstairs.”

The innkeeper showed him in the kitchen, were a huge basin full of boiled water was prepared by his wife. He also provided Sandor two buckets, so he could get the cold and boiled water.

“The tub is already in your bedroom,” old Walder said.

“Show me the way,” Sandor nodded.

The bedroom was as promised, clean and tiny. There was a bed big enough for both him and Sansa and a little wardrobe. The tub was huge too, but it was standing right next to the bed and no screen was provided.

“You’ll take the bath and I will wait outside,” he said to Sansa, who followed them upstairs.

She nodded and started to unbraid her hair. Sandor dismissed the innkeeper and put a roll he brought from the King’s Landing on the bed. Sansa eyed him unwrapping with an unhidden interest. She knew it was the only thing Sandor had, but he never opened it before this moment.

Sandor took the dress he bought for Sansa out and passed it to her.

“It had to be a gift from me for our wedding,” he said with a sad laugh. “As well as the rest of the things in this roll.”

Sansa made a step forward and warily touched the nice fabric. She carefully took the dress from his hands and latched on to it, lowering her head so Sandor wasn’t able to see her expression. Her fingers were squeezing the soft material full-force, and when Sandor noticed a few teardrops falling on the yellow fabric he swallowed.

“Thank you,” Sansa whispered, folding the dress to her breast and tilting her head to look at him.

She was crying, and Sandor made a swift step forward, dropping the roll on the bed and embracing Sansa.

Her little body was shaking from her tears and Sandor felt his tunic becoming wet, almost like during the first days of they run when Sansa was crying almost all the time. They were a little bit better now, and at some point, Sandor thought the poor girl in his arms had cried out every teardrop her body had.

“Thank you, Sandor,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. 

“You should wear it after the bath,” Sandor said, hoping she won’t mind. “It’s warm and clean, after all.”

“I will,” Sansa nodded, breaking their embrace and making a step back. She winked the rest of her tears away, and Sandor lifted his hands to wipe the salty wetness away from her cheeks with his thumbs.

He wanted to tell her there were some other things for her in the roll too, but they could wait. Instead, he leaned down and planted a peck on the crown of her hair.

“I’ll be downstairs,” he said, turning on his heels and walking out of their bedroom.

The old innkeeper was sitting there with his daughter, and judging by the sound of the water, his wife had to be somewhere in the kitchen.

“Is everything to your liking, m’lord?” old Walder leapt to feet and bowed his head. Any other time Sandor would bark at him and tell that he wasn’t a buggering lord or ser like his damned brother. But now it would be too dangerous to provoke the old man.

Sansa gave him the money and some diamonds from her dress, so the old man’s mouth was shut up. Provoking him or being too aggressive towards his family could break that weak agreement, Sandor decided.

“It is,” he grumbled, seating himself on the bench next to the stairs. “Did you check on my horse?”

“There’s enough hay for him until the next turn of the moon,” old Walder said. “And the water you brought should also be enough until the morning.”

“Good,” Sandor nodded, unsheathing his sword. He wanted to spend his time waiting for Sansa to be done with her bath on attending to his weapon, but the scream the innkeeper’s daughter made had dragged his attention.

Poor girl was latching on to the edge of the wooden table, her eyes wide open and her knuckles white from the pressure. Old Walder didn’t look better, his face turned pale.

“What?” Sandor grumbled, putting the sword aside.

The innkeeper exhaled sharply, closing his eyes.

“Jenye,” he said, addressing his daughter. “Go and have your rest.”

The young woman made a sob and finally released the table. She put her hands over her heavy belly as if trying to protect it from Sandor, and slowly crawled backwards, until she reached a tiny door near the kitchen.

When she closed the door, old Walder sighed and looked at Sandor with an unreadable expression.

“I don’t want to offend you, m’lord,” he said, his voice suddenly weak. “But she had lost her husband four moons ago.”

Judging by the size of her belly, the unfortunate husband of hers had managed to put a babe in her just before his death.

“Was he killed or what?” Sandor cocked his eyebrow, casting a glance to his sword.

“Slaughtered in front of her by the _unsatisfied_ visitor,” old Walder made a sad chuckle, but tried to mask it with a cough. “I’m sorry, m’lord, she just overreacted. She didn’t want to displease you or anything.”

“It’s nothing,” Sandor shrugged. “Don’t think a poor woman could displease me by being afraid of my sword.”

Old Walder chewed his lip, as if he was wanted to add something else, but in the end, made a heavy sigh and bowed his head.

“I hope you will enjoy the rest of your stay here, m’lord.”

Sansa said she managed to secure their stay just for one night. Which meant that tomorrow they already will be on their way, hopefully, with their stomachs full of another warm meal the innkeeper’s wife would make.

Sandor put his sword back in the sheath. He heard a creak the wooden door in their bedroom made and stood up.

“I thank you for your help,” he said to the innkeeper, who looked at Sandor with an unhidden stun in his eyes, and went upstairs.

Sansa was already lying under the warm furs, her hair combed and braided. She cast a quick look at Sandor and a tiny smile crossed her face.

He barred the wooden door and moved the tub to the wall. The water was still warm and Sandor had felt an urge to wash too, but there was no way he could let Sansa out of the bedroom on her own.

There was no way he could lie down next to Sansa covered with dirt and sweat.

“I’ll take the floor,” he grumbled, taking his swordbelt off and putting it next to the bed.

“B-but the water is still warm,” Sansa suddenly protested, seating herself on the bed. She was holding the furs to her chest, as if she was trying to cover herself. “You should take the bath and allow the water to calm down your body. And then have your sleep on the bed.”

“I won’t let you out of the room on your own,” Sandor said, noticing a strange spark in Sansa’s eyes.

“I will stay here,” she said. “But I won’t peep at you, I promise.”

As if to confirm her words, she quickly lied down, covering herself with the furs. Sandor snorted, taking his tunic off and kicking his boots off. He undressed and got into the tub, making a loud sigh at the welcoming feeling of warm water enveloping his body. He found a bar of soap and washed himself, getting rid of dirt and dust.

He even allowed himself to put his head on the edge of the tub and close his eyes, enjoying the comfort the warm water was giving him. Sansa was quiet on the bed, her breath was calm and steady, as if she had already felt asleep. It wasn’t a big surprise, all of them were tired as the seven devils, it was a miracle she didn’t fall asleep while taking her bath.

Sandor took a deep breath. He wanted to get out and have a proper sleep himself, but the water was too nice it was rather difficult to leave the tub right now. The door of their bedroom was barred, for now, they were relatively safe, which meant they could sleep as long as they wanted tomorrow. Sandor hoped the old innkeeper won’t be coming to wake them up at the crack of dawn.

He washed his face and got out, drying himself with a spare cloth which was provided by the innkeeper. Sandor put on just his smallclothes and went to the bed, lying down next to Sansa. She didn’t wake up, but as soon as Sandor made himself comfortable, she rolled to his side, nestling against him in the same way as she always did during their travel.

She was wearing just her smallclothes too, and Sandor swallowed.

Lying next to her fully clothed on the cold ground was one thing, and having her cuddling up to his body while lying on the featherbed, their bodies separated from each other just by thin fabric, was a completely different thing. A wicked thing. A tempting thing.

Sandor closed his eyes and dropped into sleep.


	11. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things are happening here

When Sansa woke up, there was warmth and a feeling of total safety. She yawned and tried to stretch her hands, but she was caught in an iron grip of someone, pressed to the hot body without any chance to escape.

She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to get used to the dim light of the room. She saw the rays of the sun coming through the wooden shutters, so it was already late. It wasn’t a mystery why did they sleep so long, trapped on the featherbed after days of sleeping on a cold ground. She was lying on her side, her back pressed to Sandor’s body. He was still sleeping, his breath steady and calm, and his huge hands were holding Sansa in a tight embrace.

He wasn’t wearing his clothes too, and his face was nuzzled into the back of Sansa’s neck. Every time he breathed out, there was an already familiar feeling running through her veins and gathering in the lower part of her stomach. Sansa shifted and felt a sticky wetness between her tights.

She knew there had to be a deep blush on her cheeks now, but at least Sandor was still sleeping. There was no way she could break their embrace without waking him up, so Sansa took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down.

She thought she was used to Sandor’s close presence like this. After all, they’ve spent days and nights latched on to each other while riding Stranger or sleeping on a ground. Sandor used to hold her when she was crying after their escape, and the feeling of his body next to hers wasn’t something unusual for Sansa anymore. And she had already learnt how her body was starting to react to his presence, as well as felt the hardness of his manhood from time to time when she was the first one to wake up, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Quite opposite.

But lying in his embrace on the soft featherbed was a completely different experience. They were relatively safe, they had finally got their proper rest, and Sandor’s body wasn’t tensed as always. Sansa felt herself the same, she woke up completely relaxed and rested, and Sandor’s presence made her feel safe and warm.

She wanted so much to roll on her other side and face him, but doing so would wake him up. And she knew how tired Sandor was and how much he needed that rest, so Sansa sighed and closed her eyes. She felt Sandor shifting in his sleep, and his large palm moved to her stomach, bringing more warmth and beautiful sensation to her body. She felt an ache lighting up between her legs and bit her lip.

She was aroused by Sandor’s presence, but that thought didn’t make her uncomfortable. Before the whole mess with the wedding and their escape, Sansa was preparing herself to enter the married life with Sandor, which lead her to the thoughts of the marriage bed. She heard from the women all over the Keep about it, and imagining Sandor claiming her as his wife was something that made her feel some new things.

When Sansa was just a little girl, all hints about what was happening between a husband and a wife in a marriage bed would make her screw her face in pure disgust. And not only that, even the thought of kissing someone while using a _tongue_ was enough for her to run away from her elder brothers, feeling nauseous. But she was just a stupid little girl back then.

Thinking about Sandor in her marriage bed made her flustered and shy. Imagining him lying with her as her _husband_ made Sansa’s cheeks burn and a queer feeling inside her stomach to appear for the first time. When they were coming back from the Godswood in her chamber and Sandor was retreating for the rest of the night, she would spend hours lying on her bed and recalling their shy caresses and innocent touches.

Which weren’t so innocent in her dreams afterwards.

Sansa had no proper idea of what a good husband could do with his wife, but her dreams made her wish for experiencing it with _Sandor_.

She tried not to think about it during their run, her mind focused on more important things like their survival. But now, lying on a featherbed and feeling Sandor’s breath on her neck she wished for something more than just caresses they were giving each other from time to time. She felt Sandor’s hand tremble on the smooth skin of her stomach, Sandor’s nose to nuzzle her neck, Sandor’ body pressed to hers one, and the ache at her woman’s place became stronger and more torturing.

She wanted to ease it, but had no idea how. Sandor would know how to help her, Sansa was sure of it. But at the same time, she was sure he wouldn’t touch her. Even if she’d ask.

At least not while she was married to his _brother_.

Sansa closed her eyes and tried to hunt away all her naughty thoughts, and then she was sleeping again.

  
  


***

  
  


She woke up again to the sound of splashing water. Sansa stretched her hands and body and realised she was all alone on her bed. She opened her eyes and levered herself up with her elbow, watching Sandor taking the tub with cold water out of their bedroom. He felt her gaze on him and stopped, turning around and looking at her.

“Good morning,” Sansa said and felt a blush appearing on her cheeks. 

“I’d say, good _day_ ,” Sandor snorted, unbarring the door. “I’m going to take it out and get us something to eat. Stay here and don’t go away.”

Sansa nodded, and then Sandor was gone. She needed to use a privy, but decided to do it after he would come back. Sansa stretched herself once again and got off the bed. Her body was feeling fresh and clean, and she wanted to try on the dress Sandor got for her so much. It was lying on the chair on the opposite side of the room, and Sansa stood in front of it for a good five minutes, just looking at the delicate fabric and admiring the work of an unnamed seamstresses.

The dress fit her way better than she could imagine. The colour was just right for her, but it was the colour which made her think about her _husband_. Sansa shook her head and tried to get him out of her head. After all, it was _Sandor_ who bought her this dress. _Sandor_ , who took his time and picked something he wanted to gift her. _Sandor_ , who showed how much he cared for her and wanted to see her pretty.

It was _Sandor’s_ colour, she decided, adjusting the laces and skirts. There was a dusty mirror on the wall, and Sansa admired the way dress fit her body. There was a moderate cleavage, and Sansa, who spent enough time at the court, knew that it wasn’t something the ladies in the capital were wearing right now. They preferred more open dresses, but Sandor got her the one which was covering her breasts almost completely. She knew he admired her _teats_ , Sansa blushed remembering the words he told her moons ago during their brief night encounter, and picking such dress for her clearly showed he didn’t want anyone else to see them.

Sansa giggled at that thought and went to pick up her comb. 

She braided her hair and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Sandor to come back. He promised to bring something to eat, and Sansa’s stomach was starting to growl. She locked her fingers on her knees and waited, but there was no one coming to their bedroom.

Sandor asked her not to go outside. So she decided that opening a door just a little bit and eavesdropping won’t count for breaking her word.

Sansa opened a door and heard _voices_.

There were people downstairs, talking about something in a hushed tone, from time to time their voices were rising to call an innkeeper or to have a proper loud laugh. Old Walder told her that this inn was a place where travellers were having their meals, there was nothing strange that people were eating and talking about something. Sansa didn’t hear any screams, nor the sounds of any fight. Just some travellers - or, more likely, soldiers, having their meal and laughing at the bawdy jokes of their companions.

Sandor was nowhere to be heard, and that was what scared Sansa the most.

She closed the door and went back to the bed, lying on it and snuggling down. She heard the muffled sounds of the visitors’ voices and prayed to the Old and New Gods to keep Sandor safe. They were on a run, so there had to be a price for their heads, and Sansa didn’t want even to think about what could happen if any of the visitors could recognise Sandor.

She closed her eyes and prayed, and it almost brought her back to sleep, so when Sansa heard the heavy sound of someone coming upstairs, taking two stairs at a time, she almost jumped on the featherbed, her hands trembling.

She realised she didn’t bar the door.

Sansa exhaled loudly when she realised it was Sandor.

“I was so worried,” she said, seating herself on the bed and looking at him. “There were some soldiers downstairs, and I…”

She became silent when she saw the expression on Sandor’s face.

It was… strange. As if he was despaired and sad and happy and bewildered at the same time. His shoulders were shaking, and Sansa realised it wasn’t because he wanted to cry. Sandor was laughing without a sound, his eyes locked on hers and his eyes full of all those emotions she saw on his face just a second ago.

“Sandor?” she said quietly, and her voice made him move.

He crossed the distance between them in a couple of large steps, leaning down. And then his huge palms were cupping Sansa’s face. She gasped, and then his face was so close Sansa was sure there was no space between them even for the handkerchief made of the finest silk.

“Sansa,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

And then his lips were pressed to her forehead, and Sansa gasped again. But this time, it wasn’t a sound of surprise.

She reached out her hands and cupped his face in the same way, lightly caressing his scars and stubble. Sandor didn’t even notice she did so, he was kissing her - he was kissing her _everywhere_. He forehead, her temple, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her closed eyelids, her eyebrows. He was kissing her everywhere, his shoulders still shaking from his silent laugh, but that time there was a wetness on his cheeks too.

Sandor was laughing and crying and kissing her face, and Sansa wanted to ask him what had made him feel so many emotions at the same time, but she didn’t want to break the spell.

Instead, she moved her face and pressed her lips to his mouth.

She had already done so before, but it wasn’t a proper kiss. Just a quick touch of her lips to his, so light and ethereal it reminded her of the butterfly wings. But now she pressed her lips to his, and she knew there was no way back after that.

Sandor made a pained sound, his fingers tightening on her face, and then he was kissing her _properly_. Just like Sansa was imagining before. His eyes were closed, and Sansa decided to do the same, allowing herself to forget all her troubles and falling in the stream of emotions and feelings.

Sandor opened his mouth and she felt his hot tongue touching her lips. It was _that one_ kiss which could make her shriek in horror many years ago, but Sansa wasn’t that little girl anymore. She felt Sandor’s tongue running across her mouth, and then there was a sudden rush of wetness appearing between her thighs. Sansa opened her mouth, trying to mirror Sandor’s actions, but instead of doing anything with her tongue, she moaned.

She didn’t know she could moan like _that_. She was moaning when she was too lazy to wake up, or when she was disappointed in something, or when she was feeling too much pain - but _this_ moan was something else.

And it made Sandor to break their kiss.

“Sansa,” he said again, his voice hoarse and his sight wild. He was still cupping her face in his hands and his breath was ragged. He pressed his forehead on hers, and Sansa moved her hands to wipe out his tears.

“Sandor,” she said his name again, and her voice sounded so strange. It was hoarse too, but somehow shy and warm.

“We are safe, Sansa,” Sandor said and his mouth twitched. “We are safe for now, little bird.”

His words didn’t make any sense. How could they be safe if he stole her right after her wedding to his brother? How could they be safe if the King and _Ser Clegane_ were looking after them? How could they be safe in a place where everyone was too afraid of her _husband_ to allow them to continue their journey without any trouble?

“Why do you think so?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair and trying to calm Sandor down.

“I was a fool,” Sandor made a sad laugh. “I knew what kind of a monster was my brother, and completely forgot about it in the face of danger.”

Sansa didn’t interrupt him, continuing with her caresses. Sandor released her cheeks from his grip and fell on his knees, nuzzling his face into her collarbone. His body was so hot against her, and Sansa gulped.

“My _dear_ brother is too proud and arrogant, and has an _honour_ too,” Sandor said, his voice a little bit muffled. “Not the honour like your father had, his one is a wicked honour, the one which makes people suffer and cry for mercy. But the honour it is. And it was his bloody pride and honour which left a mark on my face.”

He laughed, but his laughter was full of pain and sadness, and Sansa pressed his head closer to her body, as if wanting to save him from those emotions and bad memories.

“He burnt my face and never told our father the real reason why he wanted to punish me,” Sandor said, and Sansa felt a sharp pain coming through her heart. “And he never told anyone else about his failures. He preferred the keep them to himself and turn them to his benefits. Even if it meant he had to kill someone.”

Sansa remembered Sandor’s story about his father’s sudden death and flinched.

“He married you because Joffrey told him so,” Sandor whispered. “He was married before, and all his brides were scared of him like I’m scared of fire.”

Sansa was afraid of her _husband_ too. She remembered how emotionless and ready for the worst she was during her wedding, but decided not to tell Sandor about it right now.

“And then his bride flew away, like a little bird she is,” Sandor laughed, and this time there was warmth in his voice. There always was that warmth now when he was calling her that. “And not without the help of his weakling brother. They run away, leaving an _honourable_ and _proud Ser Gregor_ empty-handed. What a misery.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa whispered, and Sandor finally tilted his head, looking at her. The wild mixture of the emotions was still in his eyes, but now there was something else. Something, which looked like _hope_.

“My _dear_ brother is too proud to admit his young wife tricked him and ran away,” he said, looking Sansa straight in the eyes. “No one knows we are here. Not the innkeeper. Not the soldiers. I won’t be surprised if even Joffrey doesn’t know how the wedding ended.”

Sansa gasped, giving a pull at his hair. Her heart was beating like a tiny bird in a cage, and Sansa felt as if there was no more air for her to breath.

“Nobody is looking for us except for Gregor,” Sandor said and his shoulders started to tremble from the silent laugh again. “And while he isn’t here, we are safe, Sansa. I promise you.”

Sansa knew he always kept his promises. She stretched her lips in a smile and leaned down, kissing his forehead.

“We are safe,” she whispered, and now the hot wetness was running down her cheeks.

***

She gave the innkeeper more diamonds from her wedding gown and he agreed for her and Sandor to stay in his keep for some days more. Judging by the way the old man observed Sandor during their late breakfast, Sansa suspected he would allow them to stay even without any extra payment. But she wanted to express her gratitude in the only available way, so it had to be the payment.

When Sandor went to tend to Stranger, Sansa decided to wait for him in the common area. It was almost a noon now, and there was no one else in the inn. Sansa asked the innkeeper’s wife to bring her hot water with some herbs to make something similar to the tea. She wanted to go outside, but it would be wiser for her to stay in the inn. Sandor was confident nobody was looking for them, but Sansa wanted to take some extra precautions. Just in case.

“Is everything to m’lady’s liking?” old Walder appeared next to her table, a clean pan in his hands.

Sansa nodded and smiled at him.

“I am enjoying my stay here,” she replied, and the old man laughed at her words.

“ _Enjoying_! I didn’t hear that word in regards to this shack for many years,” he looked at Sansa and squeezed his eyes. “You’re a fine young lady, girl. I’ve told you before, it isn’t a place for someone like you.”

“But it doesn’t change my opinion,” Sansa said. “The food is nice, and the bedroom is warm. The featherbed is soft and the bath was hot and refreshing. It’s everything someone could wish for after days of riding.”

Old Walder looked at her with an interest, chewing his lips. Then he quickly turned around, casting a look at the entrance door.

“Tell me, m’lady,” he suddenly said in a serious tone. “Are you alright travelling with someone like… your _companion_?”

It wasn’t a surprise someone like a poor innkeeper would be afraid of a man like Sandor. People always were judging him by his appearance and rumours, and it was his _brother_ who controlled this area. 

“I’m totally fine,” she said and smiled reassuringly, but old Walder didn’t share her enthusiasm.

“That man is a dangerous one,” he said in a hushed tone. “He is a _Clegane_ , and Cleganes are always bringing the others just tears and pain. I don’t want to scare you, m’lady, but his brother is a _monster_.”

Sansa knew very well what type of a monster Gregor Clegane was. As well as that Gregor Clegane was her husband, but she didn’t want to share that information with the innkeeper.

Sandor told her nobody knew about their whereabouts, but she didn’t want to risk their lives and spread the word about their trip.

“His brother is controlling our lands now,” old Walder continued. “Thanks to the _wise_ Royal family. We hosted him here a while ago, and if your companion has even a part of his rage I’d advise you to run away and hide.”

Sandor used to have a lot of rage within him, Sansa remembered it very well. The night when the Blackwater burnt had changed him, and the rage in his eyes had stepped away, giving a place for something _better_.

“His brother was too annoyed with the sound of iron pots that he crushed Willem’s head with his bare hands,” old Walder said, and Sansa freeze. “My Jenye’s little babe will never see their father.”

“He _is_ a monster,” Sansa whispered, lowering her gaze to the floor. “ _Gregor_ Clegane is a monster. That’s what I know for sure.”

Old Walder sighed, looking at the door again.

“And you aren’t afraid being alone with your _companion_?” he asked, and Sansa shook her head.

“Not at all,” she said, and a tiny genuine smile appeared on her lips. “Sandor Clegane might look harsh and have a bad reputation, but he is a man of great qualities.”

“Is he?” old Walder raised his eyebrows.

“He’s brave, and gentle, and strong,” Sansa said, feeling a warmth spreading in her chest. “He’s a _man_ , not a _monster_.”

“I hope you’re right, m’lady,” the innkeeper replied, and Sansa was sure there was a change in his voice.

She hoped it was for the best.


	12. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops my hand slipped and here's some angst. And sudden smut.  
> Oops...

Stranger neighed happily as soon as Sandor walked inside the barn. The warhorse looked way much better than on the day of their arrival, he had a proper rest and Sansa was brushing him and his mane every day after their arrival. Stranger was already eager to leave this barn and continue their journey, but both Sandor and Sansa decided they needed to rest for a little bit longer.

Their next stop had to be Riverrun. Sandor heard from the innkeeper about King in the North and current deeds. His army was staying in Riverrun for a while now, and they had to arrive there on time. Who knew what Robb Stark had planned for his next step.

It would take them at least another week to get there, if they would stick to a fast pace. But Sandor didn’t want to see his warhorse exhausted and broken as he was before their arrival to the inn. He was afraid that Sansa won’t understand his concern, but she nodded and said that there was no way they could sacrifice his horse’s well being just to shorten their journey to Riverrun for day or two.

It was so strange to know that Sansa was sharing his opinions on something. And not just them. She was sharing his hopes, his fears, his sorrows, his joy. Never in his life, Sandor could imagine he will have a woman by his side who will understand him and who will mean so much to him, and there he was.

Maybe that woman wasn’t destined to him, but Sandor didn’t care. He didn’t want the warmth in his chest to disappear too fast.

He changed the water for Stranger and gently caressed his mane.

“We’ll be on our way in a day or two,” he whispered to his warhorse. “Just you wait, boy.”

Stranger stamped in anticipation. He didn’t want fresh water or hay, he just wanted to get free from the little barn where he spent almost a week. He was so impatient, just like his master.

Sandor chuckled and patted his back.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said to his warhorse and left. It was time for him to get his meal too.

The food in this inn was strangely decent for a tiny place like that. There was nothing strange in the fact people were stopping here to stuff themselves before their journeys. No one wanted to stay in the old inn, though, but it was even better for both him and Sansa. They tried not to go out of their room when someone was present in the common area anyway, and, luckily, the innkeeper and his family kept their mouths shut about the presence of the infamous Hound and a fair young lady in their inn.

Sansa was right about them.

It meant she had learnt her lesson from King’s Landing and now was able to see through the others. Good for her.

This knowledge would benefit her in her future life, and especially after she would be reunited with her family. Sandor didn’t know nor the Young Wolf, not his mother very well, but he hoped they were sensible people. But the chance of them trying to take Sansa’s destiny in their hands was too big, after all, it was something which always happened to any young lady from a noble family. They could try to find their ways to annul Sansa’s marriage to Gregor and marry her off to someone straight after her arrival to Riverrun.

Not that it would stop Gregor from getting his revenge after the news about lady Sansa’s new marriage would reach him. Sandor snorted, opening the wooden door of the inn and nodding to old Walder.

Unfortunately, there was no rest for Sansa or her family until the death of her current husband. Sandor knew it for sure.

He hoped that Sansa’s family would be wise enough to let him stay by her side. Sansa would like it very much, that was something Sandor was sure of. She had told him she didn’t want to see him go after they would reach Riverrun, and Sandor promised her he will stay by her side. Even if it meant that he would have to swear his allegiance to Robb Stark. He hated the oaths, and Sansa knew about it - that’s why she cupped his left cheek and whispered that she would prefer Sandor to stay true to himself and his beliefs.

Sandor believed that his place was next to Sansa. He hated oaths, but he was ready to swear one if it meant he will get his chance to stay with her in Riverrun.

Sandor sat down to the table in the corner and asked to bring his dinner. Sansa had already eaten her meal and was taking a bath in their chambers. Old Walder’s wife had steamed some vegetables with chicken and Sandor felt his stomach to growl as soon as the innkeeper's daughter appeared on the threshold with a big plate.

He was also given a jug full of ale. Sandor didn’t like it, but he couldn’t blame the innkeeper and his family for not having a good wine in their stock. He thanked the girl and put his mind to the food.

His thoughts kept returning to Sansa, though. It wasn’t something strange, her full existence was making Sandor’s mind stay focused on her and her only. And now, after he was foolish enough to release his emotions and finally _kiss_ her, everything had changed.

For the better, of course.

But also for the worse.

She told him she didn’t want to see him go after they would reach Riverrun. She also told him she wanted to marry him as soon as they would get a chance to do so. She kept repeating she wanted to stay true to everything she told him in the Godswood, and her words were driving Sandor crazy.

There was no way they could be married, he told her. Their only chance to be joined in marriage was by the wish of someone who had the power to arrange the marriage between them. She was a noble lady and a sister of Robb Stark, who was proclaimed King in the North. And he was… no one. Nobody would approve their match, nobody would allow them to marry.

“I’ve told you before,” Sansa whispered when Sandor tried to return her to the harsh reality. “And I will tell you again. I promised I will become a good wife to you, Sandor. And I am looking forward to fulfilling that promise of mine. Whatever it takes.”

She was a foolish little bird. And a stubborn too. She was kissing him and whispering her words about their married life, and Sandor listened to her, drinking on her words like a pilgrim who had finally reached a cold spring after the weeks of his travels under the hot sun. He was devouring her words and repeating them after her, and they felt bitter on his tongue, but he was listening and listening to her sweet chirping.

Sandor hated liars, but he wanted to listen to Sansa’s bittersweet lies until the end of his days.

He ate his dinner and drank his ale and left for their bedroom. Sansa was already done with her bath, she was sitting on the bed and combing her hair. She was humming a song, and as soon as she saw Sandor her face was lightened by a wide smile. A happy smile. It was so wrong for her to share her happy smile with someone like him, but Sandor didn’t mind. Didn’t mind and didn’t care.

He barred the door and stepped in the direction of the bed, but Sansa was already on her feet. Her wet hair waved down her back, she was wearing nothing but her smallclothes, but it wasn’t disturbing Sansa at all.

“Sandor,” she chirped happily, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his. Her slender body was pressed into his immediately too, and she made a tiny moan when Sandor opened his mouth and run his tongue over her lips.

He was foolish enough to release his emotions and kiss her back then. After that, something had changed in Sansa’s behaviour. When they went to the bed that night, Sansa had moved to his side as she always did. But instead of lying next to him or caressing his face with her fingers, she kissed him. Her fingers moved to his naked chest, caressing his collarbone and nipples, and even when Sandor had stopped her and grasped her arms, breaking their kiss, she leaned to him.

She said she wanted to kiss him. That it was making her happy. That he, bloody Sandor Clegane, was making her happy. If it wasn’t about the time they spent together, Sandor would think she was trying to seduce him to get something from him. After all, she had spent enough time with Cersei Lannister while being locked in the Red Keep.

But he knew Sansa was honest. He could hear it in her voice. He could feel it in her touch. He could see it in her eyes, which turned dark-blue because of all the emotions she was feeling.

Sansa had no idea what she was doing. She was so pure and innocent, but she was lead by her instincts. She was touching him, and when he touched her back she moaned the same way she did when he kissed her earlier. She looked quite shocked by the reaction of her body and voice, but she was eager to continue her explorations.

“It feels so good when you kiss me,” she said, and her tone wasn’t seductive at all - more shy and nervous. “Please, show me more, Sandor.”

  
Of course, he showed her. Who was he to refuse the _plea_ of Sansa Stark to show her what else could be as good as their kisses? And maybe even better.

He showed her everything he could. He wanted to do way more things with her, oh, that Sandor was sure of. But his hands were tied with the knowledge of Sansa’s marriage to his brother, so he had to stay cold-headed and wise. Even if that was almost impossible when he was sharing his bed with Sansa.

She was a sweet little bird. She touched his face and his shoulders and his chest, and run her fingers through his hair when he was feasting on her little teats. She was moaning, and even if she was quite uncomfortable with the sounds she made at first, she learnt how to find pleasure in them. Sandor told her that their bed wasn’t a place for them to be ashamed of something, and soon enough Sansa’s sweet moans became louder and way freer.

They’ve spent almost a week in the inn, and their nights were a total madness. They were touching each other, kissing each other, caressing each other. The bloody King in the North could appear behind their door and command to unbar it, but they wouldn’t be able to stop from worshipping each other’s bodies.

Sansa’s shyness didn’t go away fully, she was eager to kiss him and learn everything he showed her, but her cheeks still were red from embarrassment every time she found out something new about the way her body reacted to his touches. It was sweet. And so, so precious, something had hurt in Sandor’s chest every time she looked at him with her big blue eyes full of lust, eagerness, and something else. Something warm and tiny.

Sandor knew he would miss those nights after their departure.

And now she was kissing him again, and Sandor knew he was damned. They made a huge mistake that day. He didn’t have a right to touch and kiss lady Sansa like that. She wasn’t allowed to share her bed with a hungry man like Sandor Clegane.

Too many things stood between them, and his bloody brother was the main reason why he had to end their kiss, tell Sansa to go to bed and sleep on the floor near the entrance, guarding her like a faithful dog.

Sansa made a sweet moan and opened her eyes, looking directly at him. They were full of that warmth again, and Sandor felt his chest tightening.

“I want to sing for you again,” Sansa said when she broke their kiss, a shy smile playing on her lips. She was trembling and her body was on fire, the same as his. Sandor swept her up and she giggled.

“I’d like to hear it very much, Sansa,” he said after she was lying down beneath his huge body. He run his large hands down her body, tossing her smallclothes away. He had no idea how she could be _so_ wet from his touches, but he didn’t mind it at all.

He lowered his head and put his mouth on her for the first time, and never in his life he heard something sweeter than the song she gave him that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no way back at all


	13. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was nice sitting in my little dark cave of misery (no), but now it's time to come back and work on my ongoings.  
>  ~~Did you miss me?..~~

Sansa moaned and winded herself into a ball. She heard Sandor grunting in a displeased manner, but he didn’t wake up so it was fine. What wasn’t fine was the pain her whole body was experiencing right now.

There was another sharp stab in her stomach and Sansa whined.

She was having her moonblood only for a second time in her life, but she had already hated it so much. No one told her that the beautiful miracle of becoming a woman was so messy and painful. At least Sandor wasn’t disgusted by it, as Sansa thought he could. She was always told that it was a topic men preferred to avoid, but Sandor did everything to ease her pain.

Even in his sleep, his huge warm palms were covering Sansa’s lower stomach, making that awful pain a little less bearable. But it still was so awful Sansa wanted to cry. Her tummy hurt, her legs hurt, her back hurt, and they were on a road again, sleeping on a cold ground. Her moonblood came later than she was expecting, just a couple of days after they had left old Walder’s inn. Sansa knew that the first courses could come in an irregular pattern, but she preferred her moonblood to start when they were in Riverrun.

Sansa closed her eyes and tried not to think about the absorbing pain.

_ Riverrun _ . Sandor said they were quite close to the place where her mother was born. If nothing stopped them, they would arrive at the seat of her grandfather. They didn’t hear too many news, but from the scraps information she or Sandor were able to learn from the travellers who made their stops in the inn, her mother had to be in Riverrun too.

It felt so unreal. She hadn’t seen her mother for more than a year, and now just a matter of days was separating them from each other. Sansa wondered how her mother looked like now. Lady Catelyn was always known for her perfect looks and proud posture, but Sansa was afraid that all recent events had their effect on her mother.

Maybe her return would mother happier. Sansa winced at another stab of pain and moved her hand down to cover Sandor’s palm. She hoped her mother would like Sandor. After all, he was the one who put his own life at risk and saved her from his brother. Sansa was sure that the news of her  _ marriage _ had already reached Riverrun, Joffrey would make sure to let her  _ traitorous family _ know about the newest addition to their family.

Sansa hoped the news didn’t break her mother even more.

There was another stab in her stomach and Sansa sighed. She wasn’t able to fall asleep and she needed to wash herself. There was a small river near their stop and the sun was slowly rising, there was no need for her to wake up Sandor and ask him to come with her. She carefully pulled through Sandor’s embrace and planted a little kiss on his forehead.

“Sansa?” he asked in a husky voice, his eyes closed.

“I’m alright,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. “I just need to, um, run to the river quickly. And then I’ll be back. Sleep.”

She lowered her hand to brush it over Sandor’s cheek, but he moved his head and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“Be careful,” he mumbled, falling asleep again. Sansa felt her cheeks heating up. She nodded, even though she knew Sandor won’t see her now, and quickly stood up.

The river was calm but cold. Sansa found a spot between bushes and quickly tidied herself up, washing the bloodied rag afterwards. There was another wave of pain in her stomach, and Sansa groaned, getting out of the water and stretching her hands and legs. Her body felt so weak and tired, but Sansa knew it was because of her moonblood. After all, they’ve spent enough time in the old inn to get a proper rest and gain some strength for the rest of their travel.

Sansa thought about the  _ rest _ she had at the inn and her cheeks became hot again. She had heard that being with a man could bring some pleasure to a woman as well, but the reality was so much better than those gossips she heard during her time in the Red Keep. She knew that what was happening between her and Sandor was dangerous, inappropriate, and so scandalous, but she didn’t care at all.

It was appropriate for a lady to share her bed only with her husband, and if lying with a man of her own choice was a sin, then Sansa would gladly be called a sinner.

It was their first kiss which awoke something in her chest, something that made her giddy, and warm, and happy. Their kiss was born out of the overwhelming emotions both her and Sandor had felt back then, and Sansa thought it was the best moment of her life. It was so tender, so hot, and so full of hope.

Sansa knew that kissing  _ Sandor  _ was the only right thing for her to do. It almost felt like the kiss from the songs, the one which people used to call a  _ kiss of true love _ . She had no idea if she loved Sandor. Back in King’s Landing, she told him she would learn how to love him after their marriage, and now there was a tight ball of various emotions she was feeling towards him. She cared for Sandor, she was grateful for everything he did for her, she was eager to learn more about him, she felt so safe and comfortable in his embrace, she was happy when they kissed each other and touched each other.

The songs would say all those feelings weren’t  _ love _ , but Sansa wasn’t sad. She liked what she felt for Sandor and it was everything she needed.

The memory of Sandor’s touch woke a now-familiar heat in her tummy, hunting the pain away. Sansa giggled and closed her eyes. She couldn’t wait to come back to Riverrun. There would be a warm room and a huge featherbed prepared for her, and Sansa hoped she would be able to experience all those blessed feelings Sandor’s hands brought her body and mind.

And Sandor’s mouth  _ too _ . Sansa almost squeaked at the memory and quickly walked away from the spot between bushes she was hiding in. It wasn’t the right time to think of all those things Sandor did to her with his  _ mouth _ , she had to return to their little camp and see if Sandor was already awake. And then they would resume their journey to Riverrun and she will be reunited with her family very soon.

She hoped Sandor would take her words seriously and stay with her.

A much stronger spasm went through her stomach and Sansa hissed in pain. She stopped and crouched down, covering her tummy with her hands.

“You alright?”

Sansa swiftly turned her head at the direction of the unfamiliar voice. She wanted to run away, but the pain in her stomach made her froze on her place.

There was a young man on the other side of the small river, a man she never saw in her life. He was wearing simple clothes, his face covered in dust, his hands covered in cuts and blisters. A tiny voice in the back of Sansa’s mind whispered that the young man looked somehow familiar, but Sansa was sure she never met him before.

“You alright?” he repeated and there was a sincere concern in his voice. He didn’t have any weapon with him, apparently he came to the river just to clean himself or get some freshwater. 

He didn’t look like an enemy and Sansa let herself relax a little bit.

“I’m fine,” she said, rising to feet. “Just a little bit unwell.”

“Good,” the young man smiled and his smile looked a little bit familiar too. Sansa shook her head in confusion. 

There was an irritating thought flying in her head, but she wasn’t able to catch it.

“I saw you just a second ago and became worried if you are fine,” the young man continued, eyeing her from head to toe, though there was just a mere interest in his stare. “But if everything is alright with you, it’s okay. M’lady.”

Sansa clicked her tongue.

“I’m not a lady,” she said, lowering her eyes. She was more than sure that in a simple dress with her hair in a thick braid she looked like a commoner. But first it was old Walder who recognised her as a noble woman, and now this man.

Sandor was right, after all.

“You aren’t?” now it was man’s turn to look a little bit confused. “But you look like a lady. Or maybe like a lady in disguise. There’s a lady I’m travelling with, so I know.”

If Sansa met this man moons ago, she wouldn’t believe him.  _ Proper _ ladies didn’t travel with commoners, nor they run away and spent their nights on the cold ground, eating dry meat and washing their delicate bodies in cold rivers.

But she was a lady and she was on a run. Sansa suppressed a giggle. Maybe this man’s companion was in a similar situation like her.

“Are you and your lady travelling just by yourself?” she cocked her head.

“She’s not  _ my  _ lady,” the young man mumbled and Sansa saw his ears turning pink. “Well, not in a way you thought, but still. And no, we are here with a big party.”

He waved his hand back, as if showing her where his companions were. Maybe it was a nice thing for that lady, to travel in a big company, but Sansa felt her body tensing. A big company meant that someone could recognise her or Sandor. Especially Sandor.

“I have to go,” she said, latching on to her skirt. “May you and your lady have a safe journey.”

“And you too, m’lady,” the young man bowed his head. “I hope you are not travelling on your own? It’s quite dangerous in these lands, y’know.”

“Of course not,” Sansa smiled, thinking of Sandor. “I have a strong and capable companion by my side.”

The young man nodded.

“Good,” he said again. He opened his mouth as if to add something, but then his eyes widened and he made a step back. His hands travelled to the left side of his belt where a sword was usually worn, but they were able to feel only an emptiness there.

If an enemy appeared on the riverbank, this man would be screwed, but Sansa knew there was nothing to be worried about. Well, at least  _ she  _ had nothing to worry about.

“Sandor,” she said, spinning on her heels. “There’s nothing to worry about, really. He didn’t mean any harm.”

Sandor’s sword was already unsheathed and there was a mistrust in his eyes. He was standing right behind her, he had to move very swiftly and quietly that even Sansa wasn’t able to hear him approaching. He took the young man by surprise too, the lad's expression was still shocked and his mouth open.

Sansa’s words didn’t have any effect on Sandor, his grip on the pommel was tight, his face lacking any tenderness Sansa got used to. She sighed and touched his elbow.

“Sandor, it’s fine. Trust me.”

Sandor grumbled something under his nose, but lowered his sword.

“You look like the Hound!” the man blurted, making another step back.

Sandor eyed him from head to toe and the corner of his mouth twitched in a grin.

“And you look a bastard,” he snorted in return.

“Sandor,” Sansa hissed, tugging the sleeve of his tunic. “You don’t need to act like that with someone who simply talked to me for a little bit. He didn’t mean any harm, I’m telling you - look, he even lacks his weapon.”

“But he  _ is _ a bastard, little bird,” Sandor pointed his index finger at the direction of young man’s face.

Sansa squeezed her eyes, eyeing the man in front of them and trying to catch that pesky little thought in her head. She shook her head and sighed again.

“We should go, Sandor,” she said and turned back to the man. “Have a safe journey.”

“And you, m’lady,” he nodded, as if Sandor wasn’t even present there. His fists were clenched and Sansa saw that he became nervous as soon as her companion appeared on the riverbank. There was something in his eyes which looked like a fear, but it wasn’t  _ his _ fear. As if the young man she met a couple of moments ago was afraid for  _ her _ .

Sansa smiled and gently took Sandor’s hand, locking their fingers together. She made the first steps and Sandor followed, throwing unfriendly glances at the young man.

When they came back to their little camp Sansa noticed that Sandor had already prepared everything for a journey. Stranger looked well-rested and eager to continue their journey, he neighed at the sight of his master and Sansa. Sansa ran her fingers through his mane and smiled at the big warhorse.

“You shouldn’t talk to that man,” Sandor said while attaching their bags to the saddle.

“I was in pain and he asked if I was alright,” she said and Sandor eyed her stomach. She was sure she saw a shadow of compassion on his eyes, but he quickly averted his gaze. Sansa knew he felt weak for not being able to help her with her pain, so she just made a step forward and touched the back of Sandor’s hand.

“Still,” he grumbled, paying too much attention to the bags. “Men can be dangerous even without their weapons.”

“I don’t know,” Sansa sighed. “Maybe it sounds stupid, but I felt as if no harm will come from him anyway.”

“You were tricked by his face,” Sandor snorted, turning around and putting his hands on her waist. He simply wanted to help her to mount Stranger, but even that touch sent a pleasant shiver down Sansa’s spine. “Maybe this one was a harmless bastard, but you never know what became of the rest of them - and I’m sure our old good King left a handful of them all over Westeros.”

It took her a mere second to realise what that little pesky thought was all about.

“It was King Robert’s bastard?” she squeaked, turning around and facing Sandor, who had already taken his place behind her. She felt so stupid for not recognising those features earlier - the young man looked almost like lord Renly. Who, in his turn, was always told to resemble his elder brother in his prime.

“I think so,” Sandor shrugged. “He looks like another Baratheon, and I’m more than sure that there’s no way he could be Renly’s son. And I’m not even talking about Stannis.”

“I see,” Sansa bit her lip, moving a little bit closer to Sandor. “Well, but still, he didn’t harm me, so it’s fine.”

Sandor didn’t look like he agreed with her, but he just made a deep sigh and kicked Stranger with his heels. The warhorse neighed and started to run at his usual pace. Sandor’s free hand found Sansa’s shoulder and he dragged her a little bit closer.

“You should be more careful”, he said, but there was no anger or irritation in his voice. Sansa nodded and closed her eyes, leaning to his body. Her tummy wasn’t hurting anymore, and she hoped she could have a quick nap.

“I will,” she promised and smiled, feeling the lightest touch of Sandor’s lips to the crown of her head.


	14. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe not the best time to post this chapter, but here I am.  
> It's a tiny one today.

Sandor cursed under his breath and took the damp bandage off. It’s been two days since he was injured, but the blood was still oozing and the wound was still itching. Sandor cleaned it with a dry cloth and used another one to cover his right forearm. He was too clumsy doing so with his left hand, but Sansa was already sleeping on their bedroll, and there was no way Sandor would wake her up just to help him with his stupid wound.

The whole thing with his injury was stupid. They’ve come across some smallfolk, who, apparently, decided that the life of outlaws was the best choice during these unsettling times. Sandor had to stop his warhorse and  _ politely  _ explain to the men that no, they were just poor travellers with empty pockets and hungry stomachs. Both he and Sansa wore their hoods, and stupid outlaws had no idea who they were talking to.

Maybe that was why in the end they offered Sandor a free passage - on the condition that they will get a chance to have some fun with his companion. One of the bastards had noticed Sansa’s auburn locks and laughed that he could pretend he was fucking  _ someone from those wretched nobles _ .

Stupid outlaws. Sandor made sure none of them would ever touch any woman again. Dead people weren’t able to touch anyone, it was known. Too bad he missed a stupid archer with his wobbly bow, who was cowardly hiding in the bushes as soon as Sandor unsheathed his sword. He managed to injure him, and it was his fatal mistake, he let out his position and it was quite easy for Sandor to finish him as quickly as he was able.

It was just a stupid wound, but Sansa was worried for him as if he was brought from the battlefield on a litter. She wanted to help him as soon as Sandor was done with the outlaws as if she wasn’t disturbed by the dead bodies around her at all. It wasn’t a good idea, they had to disappear from the damned place straight away, so Sandor had to cut her off and walk her to Stranger. It was just a wound, he was used to them.

They were really close to Riverrun and Sandor thought they had to proceed with their travels without making any unnecessary stops. The faster they get there, the safer little bird would be, at least he hoped so. And he knew that Sansa was really eager to finally meet her mother and brother once again. She was chirping and chirping about their happy reunion, and Sandor knew he could listen to her sweet chirps forever. Even if he was really worried about what would happen to  _ them  _ after Sansa and her family would meet each other again.

They made a stop only to have some sleep, and in the morning Sandor found out that his wound wasn’t as minor as he thought after he was injured. Apparently, that cunt of an archer had no idea about caring for his weapon and the arrow that struck Sandor wasn’t clean enough to let his wound skin over as usual. He could suspect a poison on the arrowhead, he saw such wounds before, but there was no way some lowborn outlaw could get himself a poison for his weapon. He was just a dirty bastard. Luckily, a  _ dead  _ bastard.

Sandor didn’t want to disturb Sansa with his injury at all, so he made some bandages while she was bathing in a cold river and washed his wound with fresh water. There was no pus coming out, so Sandor decided it was a good sign. When Sansa was back, wearing the pretty dress he bought her, he smiled and said they had to move.

“I hope we will reach your mother’s place in a day or two,” he said while helping Sansa to get on his warhorse, and she shrieked in a delight.

“I really can’t wait to see everyone again!” she chirped and leaned to him when he finally managed to mount Stranger. There was a dull pain in his right arm when he lifted it too swiftly, but Sandor just made a quick grimace and didn’t say anything about it. Sansa didn’t need to worry about him.

He placed a quick peck on the crown of her head and commanded Stranger to go.

When they made another stop for a night, Sandor noticed that the bandage was soaked with blood. He cursed under his breath and made sure he was sitting on Sansa’s right, so she couldn’t see his injury. There was nothing special, Sandor was more than sure his wound would heal in a day or two, he just needed time and some new bandages, and Sansa was already too stressed out with everything happening in her life. There was no way he would make her worry even more. After all, he promised to keep her safe from any trouble, and his wound just happened to be one of them.

  
He waited until she kissed him sweetly and yawned, falling asleep almost instantly after she lied down on their bedroll. Only then Sandor took out some new bandages out of the saddlebag. He clumsily took care of his wound, cursing the archer for shooting him in his right arm, put a new bandage over the oozing cut, and tried not to scratch it too much. It was itching like hell, but Sandor decided it looked better than in the morning. It _was_ a good sign, so he choked a fire and went to sleep, carefully holding Sansa in his arms.

***

He saw that stupid dream again. He was a dumb pup lost in a huge kennel his grandfather built, but this time the door in front of him was open. He was free to escape, to run away, to reunite with his little bird. He opened his mouth to call her, but the only sound he heard was a loud bark. It was a weird dream, but he was a pup here, there was nothing wrong with it.

He ran in the direction of the door, but then the path to his freedom was blocked. He had no idea where that burning beam fell from, but suddenly the whole barn was on fire and there was no way for him to escape.

He wanted to bark again, to call someone, but instead of a fierce sound, he heard a tiny whine. He was just a mere little dumb pup who was surrounded by fire, just like in his childhood dreams. He heard someone calling his name, but there was no way for him to follow that sound. He felt the hot flames with his fur and skin and knew he was trapped in that barn forever.

***

"Sandor?"

There was too much fear and pain in Sansa's voice, and he wanted to jump up and grab his sword to protect her, but the only thing he managed to do was to open his eyes. It took him some time to focus his stare on her, and the first thing Sandor saw were tears in her eyes.

“Little bird?” he asked, but his voice was hoarse and weak. He had no idea what was going on.

“You’re burning,” she whispered, taking something off his forehead and Sandor noticed she had a wet cloth in her hand now.

_ Of course I am, I just had a dream about being trapped in a burning kennel _ , he wanted to answer with a laugh, but then he realised that his throat and his tongue were out of his control. And his whole body  _ was  _ burning.

“I cleaned your wound and used an ointment Walder gave us before we left his inn,” Sansa said and he realised her voice was trembling. “But the fever isn’t going away. At all.”

There was a loud sob and she turned away, quickly rubbing her eyes. There was no need for her to cry over his wound, it was just an injury. Many men went through them and Sandor wanted to say that he would be fine, he just needed some time to heal.

Too bad he wasn’t able to say a word.

At least his left hand was still somehow listening to his commands. He slowly lifted it and touched Sansa’s knee, trying to calm her down, he even made his best effort to smile at her. But she didn’t react as he thought.

“Why didn’t you tell me your wound is still open?” she managed to ask him between her sobs. “I could help you with it, why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Maybe she was right. If he told her about his oozing wound, she would deal with it better than he. But then she would be stressed and worried about him and his stupid cut, and those were feelings Sandor didn’t want her to have because of him. He wasn’t worth them.

Sansa was sobbing and saying something else, but he couldn’t hear her. It was a shame, he wanted to listen to her chirping forever, but the familiar darkness from his childhood had emerged out of nowhere and dragged him away into the unknown.

***

He had no idea how long he was in the embrace of the darkness, feeling like a powerless rag doll. There was nothing around him, not even the stupid pup dreams, and Sandor knew there was no reason for him to fight it. The darkness was too powerful, too strong, too tricky.

Too bad his desire to speak to Sansa and tell her that there was no way he would succumb to such a thing was way stronger. He had no idea how long he was in the embrace of the darkness, but when he managed to open his eyes once again, he realised there was no cold bedroll under his aching body.

  
He was lying in an unfamiliar bed, and when he moved his head a little bit to the side the first thing he saw was the auburn hair he missed so much in that stupid darkness. He simply needed to raise his hand and touch them, and only _then_ he would know he was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next two chapters will be guest POVs, as some sort of the connection between the first and the second parts of this story


End file.
